Maxioms by Heinrich Heine
Mark this well, you proud men of action! you are, after all, nothing but unconscious instruments of the men of read more
Mark this well, you proud men of action! you are, after all, nothing but unconscious instruments of the men of thought.
God will pardon me. It is his trade.
God will pardon me. It is his trade.
Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens read more
Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The very clouds move on.
