Stéphane Mallarme

“Si tu veux nous nous aimeronsAvec tes lèvres sans le direCette rose ne l'interrompsQu'à verser un silence pireJamais de chants ne lancent promptsLe scintillement du sourireSi tu veux nous nous aimeronsAvec tes lèvres sans le dire Muet muet entre les rondsSylphe dans la pourpre d'empireUn baiser flambant se déchireJusqu'aux pointe des aileronsSi tu veux nous nous aimerons.”

“« Un grand écrivain se remarque au nombre de pages qu'il ne publie pas. »”

“exiled spirits, redas the spotless toe of a seraph spreadwith scarlet by the shame of rumpled dawns”

“There is only beauty / and it has only one perfect expression / poetry. All the rest is a lie /except for those who live by the body, love, and, that love of the mind, friendship. For me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because its sensual delight falls back deliciously in my soul.”

“It is in front of the the paper that the artist creates himself.”

“ان الجنس المسمى أدبا لهو الشعر بكل بساطة.”

“Mon rêve montera vers toi: telle déjà,Rare limpidité d'un coeur qui le songea,Je me crois seule en ma monotone patrieEt tout, autour de moi, vit dans l'idolâtrieD'un miroir qui reflète en son calme dormantHérodiade au clair regard de diamant...”

“In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation. ”

“I have made a long enough descent into the void to speak with certainty. There is nothing but beauty--and beauty has only one perfect expression, Poetry. All the rest is a lie.”

“Everything that is sacred and that wishes to remain so must envelop itself in mystery.”

“La chair, hélas, est triste, et j'ai lu tous les livres.”

“To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.”

“I should point out, creating one's own style, as much as is required to illustrate one of the aspects, the golden seam of language, involves beginning again at once, in a different manner, adopting the guise of a pupil when one risked becoming pedantic - thus by a shrugging of one's shoulders, disconcerting some with their genuflecting stance, and immortalizing oneself in multiple, impersonal, or even anonymous forms in response to the gesture of arms raised in stupefaction.”

“Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book.”

“A roll of the dice will never abolish chance.”

“The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.”

“A soul trembling to sit by a hearth so bright,To exist again, it’s enough if I borrow from Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.”