The Works of Heinrich Heine, Volume 1

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Page 373 - She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse; which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate...
Page 381 - I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is...
Page 381 - If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
Page 381 - If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge : If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? why, revenge. The villainy, you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.
Page 341 - Heaven knows, my son, By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, I met this crown; and I myself know well, How troublesome it sat upon my head: To thee it shall descend with better quiet, Better opinion, better confirmation; For all the soil* of the achievement goes With me into the earth.
Page 297 - I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life, but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
Page 298 - tis true, this god did shake : His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried ' Give me some drink, Titinius,
Page 297 - Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake ; His coward lips did from their...
Page 412 - Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on...
Page 322 - I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north ; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, — Fie upon this quiet life ! I want work.

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