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

-Heinrich Heine

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The Artist Is The

Heinrich Heine

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

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

There Are More Fools In The World Than There Are People.

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

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

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

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

Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

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 Deepest Truth Blooms Only From The Deepest Love.

Newness Hath An Evanescent Beauty.

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.]

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

The Bible Is The Great Family Chronicle Of The Jews.

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

This Was But A Prelude; Where Books Are Burnt Human-beings Will Be Burnt In The End

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?

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...

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

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

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

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.

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.

What Lies Lurk In Kisses.

Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make Little Songs.

I Call'd The Devil, And He Came, And With Wonder His Form Did I Closely Scan; He Is Not Ugly, And Is Not Lame, But Really A Handsome And Charming Man. A Man In The Prime Of Life Is The Devil, Obliging, A Man Of The World, And Civil; A Diplomatist Too, Well Skill'd In Debate, He Talks Quite Glibly Of Church And State.

God Has Given Us Speech In Order That We May Say Pleasant Things To Our Friends, And Tell Bitter Truths To Our Enemies.

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 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.

Pretty Women Without Religion Are Like Flowers Without Perfume.

Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

I Live, Which Is The Main Point.

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.

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.

The Night Comes Stealing O'er Me, And Clouds Are On The Sea; While The Wavelets Rustle Before Me With A Mystical Melody.

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.

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

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!

We Should Forgive Our Enemies, But Not Before They Are Hanged

Our Souls Must Become Expanded By The Contemplation Of Nature's Grandeur, Before We Can Fully Comprehend The Greatness Of Man.

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

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

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.

Every Age Thinks Its Battle The Most Important Of All.

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.

Silence Can Be Defined As Conversation With An Englishman

A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

Motivational Sales

Nature, Like A True Poet, Abhors Abrupt Transitions.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

I Do Not Murmur, Even If My Heart Break.

God Will Forgive Me. It's His Job.

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.

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

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.

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.

Atheism Is The Last Word Of Theism

You Cannot Feed The Hungry On Statistics.

Every Woman Is The Gift Of A World To Me.

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.

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

Our Sweetest Hopes Rise Blooming. And Then Again Are Gone, They Bloom And Fade Alternate, And So It Goes Rolling On. I Know It, And It Troubles My Life, My Love, My Rest, My Heart Is Wise And Witty, And It Bleeds Within My Breast.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

The Negro King Desired To Be Portrayed As White. But Do Not Laugh At The Poor African; For Every Man Is But Another Negro King, And Would Like To Appear In A Color Different From That With Which Fate Has Bedaubed Him.

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.

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

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 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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

But Oh! The Latin!-madame, You Can Really Have No Idea Of What A Mess It Is. The Romans Would Never Have Found Time To Conquer The World If They Had Been Obliged First To Learn Latin. Lucky Dogs! They Already Knew In Their Cradles The Nouns Ending In Im. I On The Contrary Had To Learn It By Heart, In The Sweat Of My Brow.

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

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

As The Stars Are The Glory Of The Sky, So Great Men Are The Glory Of Their Country, Yea, Of The Whole Earth. The Hearts Of Great Men Are The Stars Of Earth; And Doubtless When One Looks Down From Above Upon Our Planet, These Hearts Are Seen To Send Forth, A Silvery Light Just Like The Stars Of Heaven.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

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

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

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.

Sweet May Hath Come To Love Us, Flowers, Trees, Their Blossoms Don; And Through The Blue Heavens Above Us The Very Clouds Move On.

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

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

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

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

Thought Precedes Action As Lighting Does Thunder.

Everywhere That A Great Soul Gives Utterance To Its Thoughts, There Also Is A Golgotha.

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.

The Air Grows Cool And Darkles, The Rhine Flows Calmly On; The Mountain Summit Sparkles In The Light Of The Setting Sun.

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

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

Thought Is Invisible Nature.

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

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.

Wherever Books Are Burned, Human Beings Are Destined To Be Burned Too.

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

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

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 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.

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

The Beauteous Dragonfly's Dancing By The Waves Of The Rivulet Glancing; She Dances Here And She Dances There, The Glimmering, Glittering Flutterer Fair. Full Many A Beetle With Loud Applause Admires Her Dress Of Azure Gauze, Admires Her Body's Bright Splendour, And Also Her Figure So Slender...

Woman Is At Once Apple And Serpent.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

God Will Pardon: That's His Business.

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

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.

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

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!

Don't Send A Poet To London.

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

The More I Get To Know People, The More I Like Dogs.

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.

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.

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

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

Inspirational Music

I Live! Red Life Boils In My Veins, Earth Yields Beneath My Feet, In The Glow Of Love I Embrace Trees And Statues, And They Live In My Embrace. Every Woman Is To Me The Gift Of A World. I Revel In The Melody Of Her Countenance, And With A Single Glance Of My Eye I Can Enjoy More Than Others With Their Every Limb Through All Their Lives.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

Mine Is A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Wishes Are: A Humble Cottage With A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, The Freshest Milk And Butter, Flowers Before My Window, And A Few Fine Trees Before My Door; And If God Wants To Make My Happiness Complete, He Will Grant Me The Joy Of Seeing Some Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanging From Those Trees. Before Death I Shall, Moved In My Heart, Forgive Them All The Wrong They Did Me In Their Lifetime. One Must, It Is True, Forgive One's Enemies-- But Not Before They Have Been Hanged.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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!

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

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

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

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

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