La Lujuria y la Muerte son dos amables muchachas,pródigas en besos y ricas en salud,cuyo vientre siempre virgen y cubierto de harapospese al cultivo eterno, jamás fructificó.Al poeta siniestro, enemig...
We are weighed down, every moment, by the conception and the sensation of Time. And there are but two means of escaping and forgetting this nightmare: pleasure and work. Pleasure consumes us. Work str...
Madre de los juegos latinos y los deleites griegos, Lesbos, donde los besos, lánguidos o gozosos,cálidos como soles, frescos como las sandías,son el adorno de noches y días gloriosos;madre de los jueg...
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.
It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk get drunk without stopping! On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
¿Cuántas veces habré de sacudir mis cascabelesy besar tu frente ruin, triste caricatura?¿Cuántas flechas he de malgastar, oh carcaj mío,para dar en ese blanco de místico carácter?Emplearemos nuestra a...
Looking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window. There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling...
Everything considered, work is less boring than amusing oneself.
As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.
This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed.
Modernity is the transitory, the fugitive, the contingent, which make up one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immutable. This transitory fugitive element, which is constantly changing,...
Genius is no more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man's physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of exp...
Nature... is nothing but the inner voice of self-interest.
¡Solo por fin! Ya no se oye más que el rodar de algunos coches rezagados y derrengados. Por unas horas hemos de poseer el silencio, si no el reposo. ¡Por fin desapareció la tiranía del rostro humano,...
Or poking through a house, in closets shut for years,Full of the scent of time - acrid, musky, dank,One comes, perhaps, upon a flask of memoriesIn whose escaping scent a soul returns to life.-
Poetry and progress are like two ambitious men who hate one another with an instinctive hatred, and when they meet upon the same road, one of them has to give place.
In certain almost supernatural states of mind, the profundity of life is revealed in its entirety in the spectacle, common as it may be, that we have before our eyes. It becomes the symbol of it.
No task is a long one but the task on which one dare not start. It becomes a nightmare.
There are moments of existence when time and space are more profound, and the awareness of existence is immensely heightened.
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