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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.

-Heinrich Heine

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The Dragon-fly Is Dancing,

Heinrich Heine

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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.

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

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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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.

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

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

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Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

Man,--the Aristocrat Amongst The Animals.

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No Author Is A Man Of Genius To His Publisher.

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.

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.]

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

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

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!

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

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

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.

In Action, The English Have The Advantage Enjoyed By Free Men Always Entitled To Free Discussion: Of Having A Ready Judgment On Every Question. We Germans, On The Other Hand, Are Always Thinking. We Think So Much That We Never Form A Judgment.

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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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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.

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Inspirational Love

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It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

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

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

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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.

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Atheism Is The Last Word Of Theism

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

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.

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

Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

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.

A Brainiac Notices Everything, An Ignoramus Comments About Everything.

Thought Is Invisible Nature.

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

Every Age Thinks Its Battle The Most Important Of All.

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

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.

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

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

He Only Profits From Praise Who Values Criticism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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 Do Not Murmur, Even If My Heart Break.

Newness Hath An Evanescent Beauty.

You Cannot Feed The Hungry On Statistics.

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

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.

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.

Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make Little Songs.

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

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.

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

Inspirational Music

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

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

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.

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

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

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

Don't Send A Poet To London.

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

Woman Is At Once Apple And Serpent.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

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.

Nature, Like A True Poet, Abhors Abrupt Transitions.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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 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...

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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 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.

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

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.

Silence Can Be Defined As Conversation With An Englishman

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

The Bible Is The Great Family Chronicle Of The Jews.

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

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

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

Thought Precedes Action As Lighting Does Thunder.

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.

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.

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

A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

Motivational Sales

What Lies Lurk In Kisses.

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