Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
What am I doing here?
Misfortune was my god.
True life is elsewhere
Unhappiness was my god.
. . . be absolute moderne.
You will always be a hyena.
No one's serious at seventeen.
Faith assuages, guides, restores.
Hay que ser absolutamente Moderno
I'm intact, and I don't give a damn.
Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
Morality is the weakness of the mind.
Morality is the weakness of the brain.
Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn
I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
I could never throw Love out of the window.
Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.
Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun.
-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.
Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.
What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death!
One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.
Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?
Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.