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Tell Me Who First Did Kisses Suggest? It Was A Mouth All Glowing And Blest; It Kissed And It Thought Of Nothing Beside. The Fair Month Of May Was Then In Its Pride, The Flowers Were All From The Earth Fast Springing, The Sun Was Laughing, The Birds Were Singing.

-Heinrich Heine

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Tell Me Who First

Heinrich Heine

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Tell Me Who First Did Kisses Suggest? It Was A Mouth All Glowing And Blest; It Kissed And It Thought Of Nothing Beside. The Fair Month Of May Was Then In Its Pride, The Flowers Were All From The Earth Fast Springing, The Sun Was Laughing, The Birds Were Singing.

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It Must Require An Inordinate Share Of Vanity And Presumption, Too, After Enjoying So Much That Is Good And Beautiful On Earth, To Ask The Lord For Immortality In Addition To It All.

I Care Little In The Existence Of A Heaven Or Hell; Self Respect Does Not Allow Me To Guide My Acts With An Eye Toward Heavenly Salvation Or Hellish Punishment. I Pursue The Good In Life Because It Is Beautiful And Attracts Me; And Shun The Bad Because It Is Ugly And Repulsive. All Our Acts Should Originate From The Spring Of Unselfish Love, Whether There Be A Continuation After Death Or Not.

In The Marvelous Month Of May When All The Buds Were Bursting, Then In My Heart Did Love Arise. In The Marvelous Month Of May When All The Birds Were Singing, Then Did I Reveal To Her My Yearning And Longing.

I Consider It A Degradation And A Stain On My Honor To Submit To Baptism In Order To Qualify Myself For State Employment In Prussia.

The Lotus Flower Is Troubled At The Sun's Resplendent Light; With Sunken Head And Sadly She Dreamily Waits For The Night.

Every Period Of Time Is A Sphinx That Throws Itself Into The Abyss As Soon As Its Riddle Has Been Solved.

The Fountain Of Love Is The Rose And The Lily, The Sun And The Dove.

Music Played At Weddings Always Reminds Me Of The Music Played For Soldiers Before They Go Into Battle.

The Swan In The Pool Is Singing, And Up And Down Doth He Steer, And, Singing Gently Ever, Dips Under The Water Clear.

The People Have No Ear, Either For Rhythm Or Music, And Their Unnatural Passion For Pianoforte Playing And Singing Is Thus All The More Repulsive. There Is Nothing On Earth More Terrible Than English Music, Except English Painting.

Reform Judaism Is Like Mock Turtle Soup-turtle Soup Without The Turtle

The Cloudlets Are Lazily Sailing O'er The Blue Atlantic Sea; And Mid The Twilight There Hovers A Shadowy Figure O'er Me.

Ordinarily He Was Insane, But He Had Lucid Moments When He Was Merely Stupid

The Dragon-fly Is Dancing, - Is On The Water Glancing, She Flits About With Nimble Wing, The Flickering, Fluttering, Restless Thing. Besotted Chafers All Admire Her Light-blue, Gauze-like, Neat Attire; They Laud Her Blue Complexion, And Think Her Shape Perfection.

Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make Little Songs.

He Is Noble Who Both Feels And Acts Nobly.

Oh, They Loved Dearly: Their Souls Kissed, They Kissed With Their Eyes, They Were Both But One Single Kiss.

Oh Fair, Oh Sweet And Holy As Dew At Morning Tide, I Gaze On Thee, And Yearnings, Sad In My Bosom Hide.

He Who Fears To Venture As Far As His Heart Urges And His Reason Permits, Is A Coward; He Who Ventures Further Than He Intended To Go, Is A Slave.

The Stones Here Speak To Me, And I Know Their Mute Language. Also, They Seem Deeply To Feel What I Think. So A Broken Column Of The Old Roman Times, An Old Tower Of Lombardy, A Weather- Beaten Gothic Piece Of A Pillar Understands Me Well. But I Am A Ruin Myself, Wandering Among Ruins.

The Years Keep Coming And Going, Men Will Arise & Depart; Only One Thing Is Immortal: The Love That Is In My Heart.

No Author Is A Man Of Genius To His Publisher.

That Was Only The Beginning - Where One Burns Books, One Will Finally Also Burn People.

Pretty Women Without Religion Are Like Flowers Without Perfume.

I Have Smelt All The Aromas There Are In The Fragrant Kitchen They Call Earth; And What We Can Enjoy In This Life, I Surely Have Enjoyed Just Like A Lord!

All Special Charters Of Freedom Must Be Abrogated Where The Universal Law Of Freedom Is To Flourish.

The Artist Is The Child In The Popular Fable, Every One Of Whose Tears Was A Pearl.

Christianity Is An Idea, And As Such Is Indestructible And Immortal, Like Every Idea.

With The Rose The Butterfly's Deep In Love, A Thousand Times Hovering Round; But Round Himself, All Tender Like Gold, The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Found.

The Same Fact That Boccaccio Offers In Support Of Religion Might Be Adduced In Behalf Of A Republic: "it Exists In Spite Of Its Ministers.

Terrible As Is War, It Yet Displays The Spiritual Grandeur Of Man Daring To Defy His Mightiest Hereditary Enemy--death.

Tell Me Who First Did Kisses Suggest? It Was A Mouth All Glowing And Blest; It Kissed And It Thought Of Nothing Beside. The Fair Month Of May Was Then In Its Pride, The Flowers Were All From The Earth Fast Springing, The Sun Was Laughing, The Birds Were Singing.

Life Is The Greatest Of Blessings And Death The Worst Of Evils.... All Great, Powerful Souls Love Life.

Lo, Sleep Is Good, Better Is Death--in Sooth The Best Of All Were Never To Be Born.

At First I Was Almost About To Despair, I Thought I Never Could Bear It — But I Did I Bear It. The Question Remains: How?

Ask Me Not What I Have, But What I Am.

Nature, Like A True Poet, Abhors Abrupt Transitions.

Phychical Pain Is More Easily Borne Than Physical; And If I Had My Choice Between A Bad Conscience And A Bad Tooth, I Should Choose The Former.

In These Times We Fight For Ideas And Newspapers Are Our Fortress.

The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The Sun-lit Sky.

I Live, Which Is The Main Point.

Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

I Take Pride In Never Being Rude To Anyone On This Earth, Which Contains A Great Number Of Unbearable Villains Who Set Upon You To Recount Their Sufferings And Even Recite Their Poems.

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle. For It Stands Halfway Between Thought And Phenomenon, Between Spirit And Matter.

But A Day Must Come When The Fire Of Youth Will Be Quenched In My Veins, When Winter Will Dwell In My Heart, When His Snow Flakes Will Whiten My Locks, And His Mists Will Dim My Eyes. Then My Friends Will Lie In Their Lonely Grave, And I Alone Will Remain Like A Solitary Stalk Forgotten By The Reaper.

The Arrow Belongs Not To The Archer When It Has Once Left The Bow; The Word No Longer Belongs To The Speaker When It Has Once Passed His Lips, Especially When It Has Been Multiplied By The Press.

The Violets Prattle And Titter, And Gaze On The Stars High Above.

And Over The Pond Are Sailing Two Swans All White As Snow; Sweet Voices Mysteriously Wailing Pierce Through Me As Onward They Go. They Sail Along, And A Ringing Sweet Melody Rises On High; And When The Swans Begin Singing, They Presently Must Die.

On The Waves Of The Brook She Dances By, The Light, The Lovely Dragon-fly; She Dances Here, She Dances There, The Shimmering, Glimmering Flutterer Fair. And Many A Foolish Young Beetle's Impressed By The Blue Gauze Gown In Which She Is Dressed; They Admire The Enamel That Decks Her Bright, And Her Elegant Waist So Slim And Slight.

Das War Ein Vorspeil Nur; That Was Only A Prelude; Dort Wo Man Buecher Verbrennt, Where One Burns Books, Vebrennt Man Auch Am Ende One Will Also Burn People Menchen. Eventually.

God Will Forgive Me The Foolish Remarks I Have Made About Him Just As I Will Forgive My Opponents The Foolish Things They Have Written About Me, Even Though They Are Spiritually As Inferior To Me As I To Thee, O God!

Round My Cradle Shimmered The Last Moonbeams Of The Eighteenth Century And The First Morning Rays Of The Nineteenth.

He Who Fights With Priests May Make Up His Mind To Have His Poor Good Name Torn And Befouled By The Most Infamous Lies And The Most Cutting Slanders.

Thinking Of Germany In The Night Robs Me Of My Sleep.

Freedom Is A New Religion, The Religion Of Our Time.

Money Is The God Of Our Time, And Rothschild Is His Prophet.

Since The Exodus, Freedom Has Always Spoken With A Hebrew Accent.

Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

Thought Precedes Action As Lighting Does Thunder.

When The Heroes Go Off The Stage, The Clowns Come On.

The Men Of Action Are, After All, Only The Unconscious Instruments Of The Men Of Thought.

The Eyes Of Spring, So Azure, Are Peeping From The Ground; They Are The Darling Violets, That I In Nosegays Bound.

I Have A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Desires Are For A Modest Hut, A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, Very Fresh Milk And Butter, Flowers In Front Of My Window And A Few Pretty Trees By My Door. And Should The Good Lord Wish To Make Me Really Happy, He Will Allow Me The Pleasure Of Seeing About Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanged Upon Those Trees.

Where Books Are Burned In The End People Will Be Burned Too.

The Real Madness Probably Is Not Another Thing That The Wisdom Itself That, Tired Of Discovering The Shames Of The World, Has Taken The Intelligent Resolution To Become Mad

If One Has No Heart, One Cannot Write For The Masses.

Sleep Is Lovely, Death Is Better Still, Not To Have Been Born Is Of Course The Miracle.

The Bible Is The Great Family Chronicle Of The Jews.

Where Books Are Burnt, Men Finish Up Being Burnt Too.

The Foolish Race Of Mankind Are Swarming Below In The Night; They Shriek And Rage And Quarrel - And All Of Them Are Right.

I Bequeath All My Property To My Wife On The Condition That She Remarry Immediately. Then There Will Be At Least One Man To Regret My Death.

Religion Cannot Sink Lower Than When Somehow It Is Raised To A State Religion ... It Becomes Then An Avowed Mistress.

Silence Can Be Defined As Conversation With An Englishman

Jews Who Long Have Drifted From The Faith Of Their Fathers... Are Stirred In Their Inmost Parts When The Old, Familiar Passover Sounds Chance To Fall Upon Their Ears.

No Compass Has Ever Been Invented For The High Seas Of Matrimony.

I Will Not Say That Women Have No Character; Rather, They Have A New One Every Day.

As The Moon's Fair Image Quaketh In The Raging Waves Of Ocean, Whilst She, In The Vault Of Heaven, Moves With Silent Peaceful Motion.

Whether A Revolution Succeeds Or Fails People Of Great Hearts Will Always Be Sacrificed To It.

A Lonely Fir-tree Is Standing On A Northern Barren Height; It Sleeps, And The Ice And Snow-drift Cast Round It A Garment Of White.

If Thou Lookest On The Lime-leaf, Thou A Heart's Form Will Discover; Therefore Are The Lindens Ever Chosen Seats Of Each Fond Lover.

Perhaps Already I Am Dead, And These Perhaps Are Phantoms Vain; - These Motley Phantasies That Pass At Night Through My Disordered Brain. Perhaps With Ancient Heathen Shapes, Old Faded Gods, This Brain Is Full; Who, For Their Most Unholy Rites, Have Chosen A Dead Poet's Skull.

Sweet May Lies Fresh Before Us, To Life The Young Flowers Leap, And Through The Heaven's Blue O'er Us The Rosy Cloudlets Sweep.

Whenever Books Are Burned, Men Also In The End Are Burned.

God Will Forgive Me. It's His Job.

Every Age Has Its Problem, By Solving Which Humanity Is Helped Forward.

Immortality—dazzling Idea! Who First Imagined Thee! Was It Some Jolly Burgher Of Nuremburg, Who With Night-cap On His Head, And White Clay Pipe In Mouth, Sat On Some Pleasant Summer Evening Before His Door, And Reflected In All His Comfort, That It Would Be Right Pleasant, If, With Unextinguishable Pipe, And Endless Breath, He Could Thus Vegetate Onwards For A Blessed Eternity? Or Was It A Lover, Who In The Arms Of His Loved One, Thought The Immortality-thought, And That Because He Could Think And Feel Naught Beside!—love! Immortality!

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers, And As The Human Heart, Imagining Itself Alone And Unwatched, Feels Most Deeply In The Night-time, So Seems It As If The Flowers, In Musing Modesty, Await The Mantling Eventide Ere They Give Themselves Up Wholly To Feeling...

There, Where One Burns Books... One, In The End, Burns Men.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The Greatest Results With The Simplest Means. These Are Simply A Sun, Trees, Flowers, Water And Love.

Inspirational Love

Inspirational Life

Thought Is Invisible Nature.

True Eloquence Consists In Saying All That Is Necessary, And Nothing But What Is Necessary.

God Will Pardon: That's His Business.

I Do Not Know The Meaning Of My Sadness; There Is An Old Fairy Tale That I Cannot Get Out Of My Mind.

Talking And Eloquence Are Not The Same: To Speak And To Speak Well Are Two Things. A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

The Great Pulsation Of Nature Beats Too In My Breast, And When I Carol Aloud, I Am Answered By A Thousand-fold Echo. I Hear A Thousand Nightingales. Spring Hath Sent Them To Awaken Earth From Her Morning Slumber, And Earth Trembles With Ecstasy, Her Flowers Are Hymns, Which She Sings In Inspiration To The Sun.

The Spring's Already At The Gate With Looks My Care Beguiling; The Country Round Appeareth Straight A Flower-garden Smiling.

I Fell Asleep Reading A Dull Book And Dreamed I Kept On Reading, So I Awoke From Sheer Boredom.

While We Are Indifferent To Our Good Qualities, We Keep On Deceiving Ourselves In Regard To Our Faults, Until We Come To Look On Them As Virtues.

And Once Again We Plighted Our Troth, And Titter'd, Caress'd, Kiss'd So Dearly.

The Portuguese, Dutch And English Have Been For A Long Time Year After Year, Shipping Home The Treasures Of India In Their Big Vessels. We Germans Have Been All Along Been Left To Watch It. Germany Would Do Likewise, But Hers Would Be Treasures Of Spiritual Knowledge.

The Butterfly Long Loved The Beautiful Rose, And Flirted Around All Day; While Round Him In Turn With Her Golden Caress, Soft Fluttered The Sun's Warm Ray.... I Know Not With Whom The Rose Was In Love, But I Know That I Loved Them All. The Butterfly, Rose, And The Sun's Bright Ray, The Star And The Bird's Sweet Call.

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

I Wept In My Dreams. I Dreamed You Lay In The Grave; I Awoke, And The Tears Still Poured Down My Cheeks. I Wept In My Dreams, I Dreamed You Had Left Me; I Awoke And I Went On Weeping Long And Bitterly. I Wept In My Dreams, I Dreamed You Were Still Kind To Me; I Awoke, And Still The Flow Of My Tears Streams On.

The Deepest Truth Blooms Only From The Deepest Love.

I Do Not Murmur, Even If My Heart Break.

In Earlier Religions The Spirit Of The Time Was Expressed Through The Individual And Confirmed By Miracles. In Modern Religions The Spirit Is Expressed Through The Many And Confirmed By Reason.

Life Is All Too Wondrous Sweet, And The World Is So Beautifully Bewildered; It Is The Dream Of An Intoxicated Divinity.

Wherever They Burn Books They Will Also, In The End, Burn Human Beings.

You Should Only Attempt To Borrow From Those Who Have But Few Of This World's Goods, As Their Chests Are Not Of Iron, And They Are, Besides, Anxious To Appear Wealthier Than They Really Are.

The Blossoms And Leaves In Plenty From The Apple Tree Fall Each Day; The Merry Breezes Approach Them, And With Them Merrily Play.

Each Violet Peeps From Its Dwelling To Gaze At The Bright Stars Above.

All Our Contemporary Philosophers Perhaps Without Knowing It Are Looking Through Eyeglasses That Baruch Spinoza Polished. Spinoza Was A Philosopher Who Earned His Livelihood By Grinding Lenses.

No Talent, But Yet A Character. [ger., Kein Talent, Doch Ein Charakter.]

Write . . . Write . . . Pencil . . . Paper.

There Is Only One Writer In Whom I Find Something That Reminds Me Of The Directness Of Style Which Is Found In The Bible. It Is Shakespeare.

All I Really Want Is Enough To Live On, A Little House In The Country... And A Tree In The Garden With Seven Of My Enemies Hanging In It.

She Resembles The Venus De Milo: She Is Very Old, Has No Teeth, And Has White Spots On Her Yellow Skin.

You Talk Of Our Having An Idea; We Do Not Have An Idea. The Idea Has Us, And Martyrs Us, And Scourges Us, And Drives Us Into The Arena To Fight And Die For It, Whether We Want To Or Not.

Poverty Sits By The Cradle Of All Our Great Men And Rocks All Of Them To Manhood.

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

Inspirational Music

Every Age Thinks Its Battle The Most Important Of All.

Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where All Seek The Dead Ones Whom They Love, Or To Whom They Are Related.

Matrimony; The High Sea For Which No Compass Has Yet Been Invented.

Graves They Say Are Warm'd By Glory; Foolish Words And Empty Story.

He Only Profits From Praise Who Values Criticism.

Genius: 1. To Believe Your Own Thought. To Believe That What Is True For You Is Ultimately True. 2. A Sledgehammer. 3. The Fruit Of Labour And Thought. 4. Soul. 5. The Ability To Put Into Effect What Is In Your Mind. 6. Something One Can Become.

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.

I Am No Longer A Divine Biped. I Am No Longer The Freest German After Goethe, As Ruge Named Me In Healthier Days. I Am No Longer The Great Hero No. 2, Who Was Compared With The Grape-crowned Dionysius, Whilst My Colleague No. 1 Enjoyed The Title Of A Grand Ducal Weimarian Jupiter. I Am No Longer A Joyous, Somewhat Corpulent Hellenist, Laughing Cheerfully Down Upon The Melancholy Nazarenes. I Am Now A Poor Fatally-ill Jew, An Emaciated Picture Of Woe, An Unhappy Man.

Woman Is At Once Apple And Serpent.

He That Marries Is Like The Dogs Who Was Married To The Adriatic. He Knows Not What There Is In That Which He Marries; Mayhap Treasures And Pearls, Mayhap Monsters And Tempests, Await Him.

Experience Is A Good School. But The Fees Are High.

High In The Air Rises The Forest Of Oaks, High Over The Oaks Soar The Eagle, High Over The Eagle Sweep The Clouds, High Over The Clouds Gleam The Stars... High Over The Stars Sweep The Angels.

Atheism Is The Last Word Of Theism

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

In Blissful Dream, In Silent Night, There Came To Me, With Magic Might, With Magic Might, My Own Sweet Love, Into My Little Room Above.

First, I Thought, Almost Despairing, This Must Crush My Spirit Now; Yet I Bore It, And Am Bearing- Only Do Not Ask Me How.

There Is No Sixth Commandment In Art. The Poet Is Entitled To Lay His Hands On Whatever Material He Finds Necessary For His Work.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Knows How To Produce The Greatest Effects With The Most Limited Means.

The Swan, Like The Soul Of The Poet, By The Dull World Is Ill Understood.

At Noon I Feel As Though I Could Devour All The Elephants Of Hindostan, And Then Pick My Teeth With The Spire Of Strasburg Cathedral; In The Evening I Become So Sentimental That I Would Fain Drink Up The Milky Way Without Reflecting How Indigestible I Should Find The Little Fixed Stars, And By Night There Is The Devil Himself Broke Loose In My Head And No Mistake.

The Devil Take These People And Their Language! They Take A Dozen Monosyllabic Words In Their Jaws, Chew Them, Crunch Them And Spit Them Out Again, And Call That Speaking. Fortunately They Are By Nature Fairly Silent, And Although They Gaze At Us Open-mouthed, They Spare Us Long Conversations.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

In Politics, As In Life, We Must Above All Things Wish Only For The Attainable.

Oh What Lies There Are In Kisses! And Their Guile So Well Prepared! Sweet The Snaring Is; But This Is Sweeter Still, To Be Ensnared.

Nothing Is More Futile Than Theorizing About Music. No Doubt There Are Laws, Mathematically Strict Laws, But These Laws Are Not Music; They Are Only Its Conditions? The Essence Of Music Is Revelation.

Don't Send A Poet To London.

The Nightingale Appear'd The First, And As Her Melody She Sang, The Apple Into Blossom Burst, To Life The Grass And Violets Sprang.

Every Woman Is The Gift Of A World To Me.

I Have Never Seen An Ass Who Talked Like A Human Being, But I Have Met Many Human Beings Who Talked Like Asses.

Public Speaking

The Men Of The Past Had Convictions, While We Moderns Have Only Opinions.

If The Romans Had Been Obliged To Learn Latin, They Would Never Have Found Time To Conquer The World.

My Heart Resembles The Ocean; Has Storm, And Ebb And Flow; And Many A Beautiful Pearl Lies Hid In Its Depths Below.

In The Image Of The Lion Made He Kittens Small And Curious.

The Fundamental Evil Of The World Arose From The Fact That The Good Lord Has Not Created Money Enough.

I Do Not Know If She Was Virtuous, But She Was Ugly, And With A Woman That Is Half The Battle.

Wild, Dark Times Are Rumbling Toward Us, And The Prophet Who Wishes To Write A New Apocalypse Will Have To Invent Entirely New Beasts, And Beasts So Terrible That The Ancient Animal Symbols Of St. John Will Seem Like Cooing Doves And Cupids In Comparison.

There Is One Thing On Earth More Terrible Than English Music, And That Is English Painting.

From Every Englishman Emanates A Kind Of Gas, The Deadly Choke-damp Of Boredom.

Never Let A Fool Kiss You, Or A Kiss Fool You. Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses!

What Christian Love Cannot Do Is Effected By A Common Hatred.

Those Who Begin By Burning Books Will End By Burning People.

We Know Only That Our Entire Existence Is Forced Into New Paths And Disrupted, That New Circumstances, New Joys And New Sorrows Await Us, And That The Unknown Has Its Uncanny Attractions, Alluring And At The Same Time Anguishing.

Lyrical Poetry Is Much The Same An Every Age, As The Songs Of The Nightingales In Every Spring-time.

Glow-worms On The Ground Are Moving, As If In The Torch-dance Circling.

A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

Motivational Sales

It Is A Common Phenomenon That Just The Prettiest Girls Find It So Difficult To Get A Man.

The Beauteous Eyes Of The Spring's Fair Night With Comfort Are Downward Gazing.

Nothing Is Sillier Than This Charge Of Plagiarism. There Is No Sixth Commandment In Art. The Poet Dare Help Himself Wherever He Lists, Wherever He Finds Material Suited To His Work. He May Even Appropriate Entire Columns With Their Carved Capitals, If The Temple He Thus Supports Be A Beautiful One. Goethe Understood This Very Well, And So Did Shakespeare Before Him.

Twelve Dancings Are Dancing, And Taking No Rest, And Closely Their Hands Together Are Press'd; And Soon As A Dance Has Come To A Close, Another Begins, And Each Merrily Goes.

The Propaganda Of Communism Possesses A Language Which Every People Can Understand. Its Elements Are Simply Hunger, Envy, Death.

And The Dancing Has Begun Now, And The Dancings Whirl Round Gaily In The Waltz's Giddy Mazes, And The Ground Beneath Them Trembles.

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle.

Be Entirely Tolerant Or Not At All; Follow The Good Path Or The Evil One. To Stand At The Crossroads Requires More Strength Than You Possess.

Reason Exercises Merely The Function Of Preserving Order, Is, So To Say, The Police In The Region Of Art. In Life It Is Mostly A Cold Arithmetician Summing Up Our Follies.

Great Genius Takes Shape By Contact With Another Great Genius, But Less By Assimilation Than By Friction.

If You Wish To Strive For Peace Of Soul And Pleasure, Then Believe.

The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip Lightly In Frolicsome Mood.

God Will Forgive Me. It's His Job." Heine Said This On His Deathbed (1856). Hilarious. He Must Have Thought That Up Years Before And Counted The Seconds To Use It.

Christ Rode On An Ass, But Now Asses Ride On Christ.

With His Nightcaps And The Tatters Of His Dressing-gown He Patches Up The Gaps In The Structure Of The Universe.

In Dark Ages People Are Best Guided By Religion, As In A Pitch-black Night A Blind Man Is The Best Guide; He Knows The Roads And Paths Better Than A Man Who Can See. When Daylight Comes, However, It Is Foolish To Use Blind, Old Men As Guides.

A Pine Tree Standeth Lonely In The North On An Upland Bare; It Standeth Whitely Shrouded With Snow, And Sleepeth There. It Dreameth Of A Palm Tree Which Far In The East Alone, In The Mournful Silence Standeth On Its Ridge Of Burning Stone.

Man,--the Aristocrat Amongst The Animals.

So We Keep Asking, Over And Over,until A Handful Of Earthstops Our Mouths -but Is That An Answer?

Ich Glaube Sogar, Durch Leidensk A« Mpfe K O« Nnten Dietiere Zu Menschen Werden. I Believe That By Suffering Even Animals Could Be Made Human.

It Is Extremely Difficult For A Jew To Be Converted, For How Can He Bring Himself To Believe In The Divinity Of - Another Jew?

In Vain Would I Seek To Discover Why Sad And Mournful Am I, My Thoughts Without Ceasing Brood Over A Tale Of The Time Gone By.

Newness Hath An Evanescent Beauty.

Laughter Is Wholesome. God Is Not So Dull As Some People Make Out. Did Not He Make The Kitten To Chase Its Tail.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

Human Misery Is Too Great For Men To Die Without Faith.

A Blaspheming Frenchman Is A Spectacle More Pleasing To The Lord Than A Praying Englishman.

Sleep Is Good, Death Is Better; But Of Course, The Best Thing Would To Have Never Been Born At All.

At Dresden On The Elbe, That Handsome City, Where Straw Hats, Verses, And Cigars Are Made, They've Built (it Well May Make Us Feel Afraid,) A Music Club And Music Warehouse Pretty.

Society Is A Republic. When An Individual Endeavors To Lift Himself Above His Fellows, He Is Dragged Down By The Mass, Either By Means Of Ridicule Or Of Calumny. No One Shall Be More Virtuous Or More Intellectually Gifted Than Others. Whoever, By The Irresistable Force Of Genius, Rises Above The Common Herd Is Certain To Be Ostracized By Society, Which Will Pursue Him With Such Merciless Derision And Detraction That At Last He Will Be Compelled To Retreat Into The Solitude Of His Thoughts.

When'er Into Thine Eyes I See, All Pain And Sorrow Fly From Me. [ger., Wenn Ich In Deine Augen Sch' So Schwindet All' Mein Leid Und Weh.]

Photography Is A Witness Against The Mistaken Opinion That Art Is An Imitation Of Nature.

Out Of My Own Great Woe I Make My Little Songs.

Good Luck Is A Giddy Maid, Fickle And Restless As A Fawn; She Smooths Your Hair; And Then The Jade Kisses You Quickly, And Is Gone.

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