A man is infinitely more complicated than his thoughts.
If what has happened in the one person were communicated directly to the other, all art would collapse, all the effects of art would disappear.
The purpose of psychology is to give us a completely different idea of the things we know best.
What one wrote playfully, another reads with tension and passion; what one wrote with tension and passion, another reads playfully.
The very object of an art, the principle of its artifice, is precisely to impart the impression of an ideal state in which the man who reaches it will be capable of spontaneously producing, with no effort of hesitation, a magnificent and wonderfully ordered expression of his nature and our destinies.
One had to be a Newton to notice that the moon is falling, when everyone sees that it doesn't fall.
Poetry is simply literature reduced to the essence of its active principle. It is purged of idols of every kind, of realistic illusions, of any conceivable equivocation between the language of "truth" and the language of "creation."
To hit someone means to adopt his point of view.
That which has been believed by everyone, always and everywhere, has every chance of being false.
Man is only man at the surface. Remove the skin, dissect, and immediately you come to machinery.
You have certainly observed the curious fact that a given word which is perfectly clear when you hear it or use it in everyday language, and which does not give rise to any difficulty when it is engaged in the rapid movement of an ordinary sentence becomes magically embarrassing, introduces a strange resistance, frustrates any effort at definition as soon as you take it out of circulation to examine it separately and look for its meaning after taking away its instantaneous function.
In the physical world, one cannot increase the size or quantity of anything without changing its quality. Similar figures exist only in pure geometry.
A work is never completed except by some accident such as weariness, satisfaction, the need to deliver, or death: for, in relation to who or what is making it, it can only be one stage in a series of inner transformations.
Science is feasible when the variables are few and can be enumerated; when their combinations are distinct and clear. We are tending toward the condition of science and aspiring to do it. The artist works out his own formulas; the interest of science lies in the art of making science.
All nations have present, or past, or future reasons for thinking themselves incomparable.
Conscience reigns but it does not govern.
Oh, hasten not this loving act, Rapture where self and not-self meet: My life has been the awaiting you, Your footfall was my own heart's beat.
If disorder is the rule with you, you will be penalized for installing order.
Latent in every man is a venom of amazing bitterness, a black resentment; something that curses and loathes life, a feeling of being trapped, of having trusted and been fooled, of being helpless prey to impotent rage, blind surrender, the victim of a savage, ruthless power that gives and takes away, enlists a man, drops him, promises and betrays, and -crowning injury- inflicts on him the humiliation of feeling sorry for himself.
Whatever we succeed in doing is a transformation of something we have failed to do. Thus, when we fail, it is only because we have given up.
Cognition reigns but does not rule.
A poet's work consists less in seeking words for his ideas than in seeking ideas for his words and predominant rhythms.
A man is a poet if difficulties inherent in his art provide him with ideas; he is not a poet if they deprive him of ideas.
His heart is a desert island.... The whole scope, the whole energy of his mind surround and protect him; his depths isolate him and guard him against the truth. He flatters himself that he is entirely alone there.... Patience, dear lady. Perhaps, one day, he will discover some footprint on the sand.... What holy and happy terror, what salutary fright, once he recognizes in that pure sign of grace that his island is mysteriously inhabited!
We civilizations now know ourselves mortal.
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