Vienne la nuit sonne l'heureLes jours s'en vont je demeure
Guillaume Apollinaire (1880 - 1918)
Source: "Le Pont Mirabeau," by Guillaume Apollinaire
Contributed by: Suzi
"Come to the edge," he said."We can't, we're afraid!" they responded."Come to the edge," he said."We can't, We will fall!" they responded."Come to the edge," he said.And so they came.And he pushed them.And they flew.
Contributed by: Jordan
Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.
Contributed by: Zaady
I love men, not for what unites them, but for divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.
Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.
The plastic virtues: purity, unity, and truth, keep nature in subjection.
To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.
Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.
It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.
Come to the edge, he said. They said, we are afraid. Come to the edge, he said. They came, he pushed them and they flew.
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