Heinrich Heine Quotes on Emotion
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My songs, they say, are poisoned. How else, love, could it be? Thou hast, with deadly magic, Poured poison into me.
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Oh what lies there are in kisses! And their guile so well prepared! Sweet the snaring is; but this is Sweeter still, to be ensnared.
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When words leave off, music begins.
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Whatever tears one may shed, in the end one always blows one's nose.
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Every man, either to his terror or consolation, has some sense of religion.