Quotes About Poetry

How ironic, then, and how poetic, that humankind may have created the Creator out of want for one. Man creates God, who then creates man. Is that not the perfect circle of life? But then, if that turns out to be the case, who is created in whose image?

Qué irónico, pues, y qué poético, que la humanidad haya creado al Creador por el deseo de tener uno. El hombre crea a Dios, que a su vez crea al hombre. ¿No es el perfecto círculo de la vida? Pero, si tal es el caso, ¿quién ha sido creado a imagen de quién?

What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.

In order not to feel time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way. On what? On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk!

Isn't it true that a pleasant house makes winter more poetic, and doesn't winter add to the poetry of a house?

I will drop into your chest like a vegetal ambrosia. I will be the grain that regenerates the cruelly plowed furrow. Poetry will be born of our intimate union. A god we shall create together, and we shall soar heavenward like sunbeams, perfumes, butterflies, birds, and all winged things.

I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans; I hate movement for it displaces lines, And never do I weep and never do I laugh.

La mélancolie est l'illustre compagnon de la beauté ; elle l'est si bien que je ne peux concevoir aucune beauté qui ne porte en elle sa tristesse.

Conceive a canvas for a lyrical or fairytale buffoonery, for a pantomime, and translate it into a serious novel. Drown everything in an abnormal and dreamy atmosphere, - in the atmosphere of the great days. - It must be something soothing, - even serene in its passion. - Regions of pure Poetry.

Hay que ser sublime sin interrupción

Samuel was, more than all the others, the man of failed works of beauty; – a fantastical and sickly creature, whose poetry shines forth much more in his person than in his works, and who, around one o'clock in the morning, between the dazzling of a coal fire and the clock's tick-tock, always seemed to be the god of impotence, – a modern and hermaphrodite god, – so colossal an impotence, so enormous, reaching epic proportions!

Whose thoughts, like larks, rise on the freshening breeze, Who fans the morning with his tameless wings, Skims over life, and understands with ease The speech of flowers and other voiceless things.

Our close reunion will create poetry. Between us we shall make a god.

oh Lesbos, donde los besos lánguidos o alegres, ardientes como soles, frescos como sandías, son adorno de noches y días de gloria

Más de una joya duerme amortajada En las tinieblas y el olvido, Muy lejos de azadones y de sondas; Más de una flor despliega con pesar Su perfume dulce como un secreto En las soledades profundas.

Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes, Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor, — Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes !

Nous avons, il est vrai, nations corrompues, Aux peuples anciens des beautés incomnues..

Heureux celui qui peut d'une aile vigoureuse S'élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins ; Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes, Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor, - Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes !

Charles Baudelaire

Hay que estar siempre ebrio. Nada más: ése es todo el asunto. Para no sentir el horrible peso del Tiempo que os fatiga la espalda y os inclina hacia la tierra, tenéis que embriagaros sin tregua. Pero, ¿de qué? De vino, de poesía o de virtud, como queráis. Pero embriagaos.

Bella soy, ¡oh, mortales!, como un sueño de piedra, y mi seno, que a todos por turno a torturado, fue hecho para inspirar al poeta un amor tal como mi materia, inmortal y callado

La poésie est ce qui existe de plus réel, c'est ce qui est complètement vrai dans un autre monde .

Felice chiunque può con ala vigorosa slanciarsi verso terre luminose e serene, chi sente i suoi pensieri come allodole in viaggio nel cielo del mattino in libertà volare, chi plana sulla vita e così può ascoltare delle tacite cose e dei fiori il linguaggio.

Soit toujours poète, même en prose