One man illumines you with his other sets in you his sorrow.
Evil is committed without effort, naturally, fatally goodness is always the product of some art.
It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
It's time, Old Captain, lift anchor, sink!The land rots; we shall sail into the night;if now the sky and sea are black as inkour hearts, as you must know, are filled with light.Only when we drink pois...
L'HorlogeHorloge! dieu sinistre, effrayant, impassible,Dont le doigt nous menace et nous dit: Souviens-toi!Les vibrantes Douleurs dans ton coeur plein d'effroiSe planteront bientôt comme dans une cibl...
He possessed the logic of all good intentions and a knowledge of all the tricks of his trade, and yet he never succeeded at anything, because he believed too much in the impossible. Surprising? Why so...
My love, do you recall the object which we saw,That fair, sweet, summer morn!At a turn in the path a foul carcassOn a gravel strewn bed,Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman,Burning and dri...
A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.
Good sense tells us that earthly things are rare and fleeting, and that true reality exists only in dreams. To draw sustenance from happiness- natural or artificial - you must first have the courage t...
The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.
Woe betide the manwho goes to antiquity for the study of anything other than ideal art, logic and general method! Byimmersing, himself too deeply in it, he will no longer have the present in his mind’...
Any healthy man can go without food for two days - but not without poetry.
Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?
Nothing is as tedious as the limping days,When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways,And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom,Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom
Once someone asked, when I was present, what constituted the greatest pleasure in love. Someone replied, naturally: in receiving. Another: in giving. Someone said: the pleasure of pride! someone else:...
Bajo una luz ya mortecinase agita y baila sin razónla Vida aullante y libertina,en tanto, lejos del turbión,se alza la noche en el confíny calma aun el hambre en torno;todo lo borra: hasta el bochorno...
The saddest thing is that every love has an unhappy ending, and all the more unhappy in proportion to how divinely it began, with what wings it first took flight.
It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree.
And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, "Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!
Always be a poet, even in prose.
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