Author of quotes: Guillaume Apollinaire. Page 2

What poet, do not give in to the spleen -
The road to prosperity is not easy!
So over a flower, the caterpillar bends the back,
Don't turn into a moth.

Want I
Prudent wife
In comfort, with books and pussy
And that soul was alive
Warm spirit - alive and close.

Priceless love, the work of my hands,
I fanned the fire of your soul and sight,
And created, and love - and there is no disorder:
So in love with the statue and the perfect verse.

The night sky over the city so forgotten,
That heart is life to the beat from tenderness clogged.
Life makes the city alive and what a
Illuminates the darkness without tiring the eyes.
Seduce the heaven light the streets and shop Windows,
Here the spirit and mortal matter a single.
Love is eternal and our spirit with the peace bond,
And die, not oblatas.

The dispassion of the city, where freeze up of the roof,
And weather vane circling in haste the blind, -
How similar heart you, whose brief lull
The quirks of the new muddy excitedly.
Live both of you a random whim,
And hand banging as a whole one
My city, and Manya and remaining a mystery
And heart, all living to tears shocked.

In the sky my as in a blue field
Fall dreams, extinguished star.
All my dreams - dreams, and not more,
Not done never.

When spring passes and the fall is destroyed
All your beauty, when the evil matron
And irritable no one recognize will not be able
Infante, girl, glorious me.
Let heart of ice, love-warmed,
I will live again - other than in our days:
Year bring Shine and beauty to the poets,
All that in his youth craved them.

It is like a monastery where passion sleeps, -
Need a special trick, a difficult one,
To open the gate to the monastery to get there.

Madonna languid, when it's not you
Crumbled the sheet and that will tell you about,
But you will forget me, and we will not bind
Nothing - neither the night nor the waltz died away.

You are going - what can I say?
Recalculated again in the autumn losses.
On Lisp Madonna to your door
Comes, like a faithful dog, waiting and wailing.
You are going - what can I say?

Garden of the selfish fades, and the valley
Butterflies scattered, light.
Alone in his melancholy flock now
Night moths.
And in our room without air and light
Drop rose sorrow, slowly burning to the ground.
Beautiful, cry... the Flower withered is
The love that died!

Oh heavens, a veteran in the same old clothes,
You serve us for five thousand years,
Rags of clouds protruding from the holes of the orphan,
But the sun - the order, the sign of your victories.
You must be fun at the top
From our cries, complaints, gestures catchy:
The vanity and another husk
You see souls, low and flat...
Oh heavens, a veteran in the same rags!

Live both of you a random whim,
And hand banging as a whole one
My city, and Manya and remaining a mystery
And heart, all living to tears shocked.

We are in this lush garden came to pick bouquets.
My beauty, do you see how many
All these roses of love, will not survive the summer
Tired and naked?
Their stems will bend and the wind in the alley
Dropping petals - leaves the time of roses.
My beauty, grab them soon
Blossoms of our dreams!