Paul Verlaine Quotes

Your soul is a chosen landscape Where charming masked and costumed figures go Playing the lute and dancing and almost Sad beneath their fantastic disguises. All sing in a minor key Of all-conquering love and careless fortune They do not seem to believe in their happiness And their song mingles with the moonlight. The still moonlight, sad and beautiful, Which gives the birds to dream in the trees And makes the fountain sprays sob in ecstasy, The tall, slender fountain sprays among the marble statues.

Here are fruits, flowers, leaves and branches, and here is my heart which beats only for you.

Tears fall in my heart like the rain on the town.

Music before all else, and for that choose the irregular, which is vaguer and melts better into the air...

Take eloquence and wring its neck.

A poem is really a kind of machine for producing the poetic state by means of words.

A vast black sleep falls over my life sleep, all hope sleep, all desire.

The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam, The meditation that is rather dream, With looks that lose themselves in cherished looks; The hour of steaming tea and banished books; The sweetness of the evening at an end, The dear fatigue, and right to rest attained, And worshipped expectation of the night,— Oh, all these things, in unrelenting flight, My dream pursues through all the vain delays, Impatient of the weeks, mad at the days!