Soon we will plunge into the cold darkness; Farewell, vivid brightness of our too-short summers!
There, all is order and beauty only, Splendor, peace, and pleasure.
Free man, you will always cherish the sea.
Nature is a temple where living columns Let slip from time to time uncertain words; Man finds his way through forests of symbols Which regard him with familiar gazes.
The Poet is a kinsman in the clouds Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day; But on the ground, among the hooting crowds, He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.
Hypocrite reader my likeness my brother!
Everything, alas, is an abyss, actions, desires, dreams,
You gave me your mud and I have turned it to gold.
We have psychologized like the insane, who aggravate their madness in struggling to understand it.
All beauties, like all possible phenomena, have something of the eternal and something of the ephemeral of the absolute and the particular.
Everything that gives pleasure has its reason. To scorn the mobs of those who go astray is not the means to bring them around.