The Works of Heinrich Heine, Volume 3W. Heinemann, 1898 |
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
The Works of Heinrich Heine: Tr. from the German by Charles Godfrey Leland ... Heinrich Heine Volledige weergave - 1891 |
The Works of Heinrich Heine: Tr. from the German by Charles ..., Volume 3 Heinrich Heine Volledige weergave - 1891 |
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
Apennines aristocratic battle of Leipzig beautiful believe Berlin blooming Bologna Catholic CHAPTER Church colour Count Platen cried dear reader death debt deed Doctor dream Emperor England English eyes face feel flowers Francesca freedom French gazed German Giorgione glance gleamed Goethe green Gumpelino hand head heart heaven Heine Herr Gumpel honour houses human Hyacinth inspired Italian Italy Jesuits Jews John Bull King kissed Lady laughed live looked Lord louis-d'ors Lucca manner Marquis merry Munich Napoleon Bonaparte Nature never night nobility noble nose once painted pale perhaps Philistine poems poet poetry poor praise priests race religion remark rose secret seemed sighed Signora smile song sorrow sort soul speak spirit strangely stupid tell terrible thee things thou thought tones Translator Tyrol Verona Walter Scott Whigs whole woman words
Populaire passages
Pagina 458 - Neither do men put new wine into old bottles : else the bottles break, and the wine runneth out, and the bottles perish : but they put new wine into new bottles, and both are preserved.
Pagina 282 - This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein.
Pagina 188 - Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back. — Come, gentle night ; come, loving, black-browed night! Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Pagina 189 - Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Pagina 114 - ... a laurel wreath be laid on my coffin. Poetry, dearly as I have loved it, has always been to me only a holy plaything or a consecrated means whereby to attain a heavenly end. I have never attached much value to a poetic reputation, and I care little whether my songs are praised or found fault with. But ye may lay a sword on my coffin ; for I was a brave soldier in the War of Freedom for Mankind.
Pagina 270 - ... spectator, and where it was terrible to hear the sick mocking and reviling each other's infirmities, how emaciated consumptives ridiculed those who were bloated with dropsy, how one laughed at the cancer in the nose of another, and he again jeered the lockedjaw and distorted eyes of his neighbors, until finally those who were mad with fever sprang naked from bed, and tore the coverings and sheets from the maimed bodies around, and there was nothing to be seen but revolting misery and mutilation.
Pagina 349 - ... through this artistic power of setting forth everything to advantage. Ordinary articles of food attract us by the new light in which they are placed; even uncooked fish lie so delightfully dressed that the rainbow gleam of their scales attracts us ; raw meat lies, as if painted, on neat and many-colored porcelain plates, garlanded about with parsley — yes, everything seems painted, reminding us of the highly polished yet modest pictures of Franz Mieris.
Pagina 447 - I have here given the best apology for Lord WELLINGTON — in the English sense of the word. My readers will be astonished when I honorably confess that I once praised this hero — and clapped on all sail in so doing.
Pagina 340 - The Frenchman loves liberty as his bride. He burns for her ; he is a flame ; he casts himself at her feet with the most extravagant protestations; he will fight for her to the death; he commits for her sake a thousand follies. The German loves liberty as though she were his old grandmother.
Pagina 340 - They are a speculative race, ideologists, prophets, and afterthinkers, dreamers who only live in the past and in the future, and who have no present. Englishmen and Frenchmen have a present; with them every day has its field of action, its opposing element, its history. The German has nothing for which to battle, and when he began to realize that there might be things worth striving for, his philosophizing wiseacres taught him to doubt the existence of such things.