Sleep is lovely, death is better still, not to have been born is of course the miracle. – Heinrich Heine
The lotus flower is troubled
At the suns resplendent light;
With sunken head and sadly
She dreamily waits for the night. – Heinrich Heine
In the marvellous month of May
when all the buds were bursting,
then in my heart did
love arise.
In the marvellous month of May
when all the birds were singing,
then did I reveal to her
my yearning and longing. – Heinrich Heine
Whatever tears one may shed, in the end one always blows ones nose. – Heinrich Heine