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

-Heinrich Heine

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The Foolish Race Of

Heinrich Heine

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

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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.

Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make Little Songs.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.

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

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

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

What Lies Lurk In Kisses.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

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.

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 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.

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

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

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

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

Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

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.

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.

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

The Bible Is The Great Family Chronicle Of The Jews.

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!

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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 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...

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

Motivational Sales

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

Inspirational Music

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.

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Cannot Feed The Hungry On Statistics.

Newness Hath An Evanescent Beauty.

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

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.

Every Age Thinks Its Battle The Most Important Of All.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

I Do Not Murmur, Even If My Heart Break.

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

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

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

Thought Is Invisible Nature.

Every Woman Is The Gift Of A World To Me.

Thought Precedes Action As Lighting Does Thunder.

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.

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

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

Don't Send A Poet To London.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

No Author Is A Man Of Genius To His Publisher.

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.

Man,--the Aristocrat Amongst The Animals.

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.

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.

The Deepest Truth Blooms Only From The Deepest Love.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Silence Can Be Defined As Conversation With An Englishman

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

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

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

I Live, Which Is The Main Point.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The Greatest Results With The Simplest Means. These Are Simply A Sun, Trees, Flowers, Water And Love. Of Course, If The Spectator Be Without The Last, The Whole Will Present But A Pitiful Appearance, And In That Case, The Sun Is Merely So Many Miles In Diameter, The Trees Are Good For Fuel, The Flowers Are Classified By Stamens, And The Water Is Simply Wet.

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

Atheism Is The Last Word Of Theism

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

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

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

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.

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!

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

God Will Pardon: That's His Business.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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?

Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

Woman Is At Once Apple And Serpent.

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.

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

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