Alfred de Musset
Alfred de Musset
Alfred Louis Charles de Musset-Pathaywas a French dramatist, poet, and novelist. Along with his poetry, he is known for writing the autobiographical novel La Confession d'un enfant du siècle...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth11 December 1810
CountryFrance
goodbye farewell bye-love
The return makes one love the farewell.
hands walks knows
I don't know where my road is going, but I know that I walk better when I hold your hand.
too-late world late
I have come too late into a world too old.
heart voice notes
The soft contralto notes of a woman's voice are born in the immediate region of the heart.
love-is soul earth
As all the perfumes of the vanished dayRise from the earth still moistened with the dewSo from my chastened soul beneath thy rayOld love is born anew.
teacher pain men
Man is a pupil, pain is his teacher.
suffering may illusion
Reason may cure illusions, but not suffering.
memorable two poetry
Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content.
love trifles
One must not trifle with love
letters matter paper
In love matters; keep your pen from paper.
cost
The costliest women are the ones who cost nothing.
brother wine speak
The fumes of wine fermented in my head; it was one of those moments of intoxication when all that ones sees and hears, speaks to one of the adored.... One would willingly embrace all who smile, and one feels that he is brother of all who live.
dream self ridiculous
I could not clearly distinguish what was passing in my head; it seemed to me that I was under the influence of a horrible dream and that I had but to awake to find myself cured; at times it seemed that my entire life had been a dream, ridiculous and childish, the falseness of which had just been disclosed.
flower heart eye
If you are weak, dependent upon others, inclined to allow yourself to be dominated by opinion, to take root wherever you see a little soil, make for yourself a shield that will resist everything, for if you yield to your weaker nature you will not grow, you will dry up like a dead plant, and you will bear neither fruit nor flowers. The sap of your life will dissipate into the formation of a useless bark; all your actions will be as colorless as the leaves of the willow; you will have no tears to water you, but those from your own eyes, to nourish you, no heart but your own.