Whenever books are burned men also in the end are burned. – 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
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The story of his youth was a series of bitternesses, as is the case with almost all distinguished men. Poverty sits by their cradle, and keeps watch over them till they have grown up; and this lean nurse remains their true companion through life. – Heinrich Heine
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The weather-cock on the church spire, though made of iron, would soon be broken by the storm-wind if it did not understand the noble art of turning to every wind. – Heinrich Heine
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