The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme. — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
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… — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
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… — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation. — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
O naked flower of my lips, you lie! I await a thing unknown or perhaps, unaware of the mystery and your cries you give,… — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
“...for we are always at one with the instrument of our magic spells.” — Stéphane Mallarmé Copy Share Image
“exiled spirits, red as the spotless toe of a seraph spread with scarlet by the shame of rumpled dawns” — Stéphane Mallarmé Copy Share Image
The reproach that superficial people formulate against Manet, that whereas once he painted ugliness, now he paints vulgarity, falls harmlessly to the ground, when… — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
As for me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because this self-lust has a delightful dying fall… — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
It is in front of the the paper that the artist creates himself. — Stephane Mallarme Copy Share Image
