Author of quotes: Guillaume Apollinaire. Page 3

Her lips parted
The sun has risen
And snuck into the room
Through the shutters and through the glass
And it was warm
Her lips parted
And eyes closed
And his face was so calm that one can see what
She dreams a Golden dream
Tender and Golden
I also had a dream Golden
If you
The tree of love we stand
And under it
A moonless night and a Sunny day
Time is like a dream
There are cats and apples caress a tear
A dark-haired virgin give
The fruits taste cats

Ring on nameless
For a kiss a whisper of dreams
All the passion of the recognition given to us
In the ring on the nameless finger

Under the bridge Mirabeau quietly flows the Seine
And carries our love...
I need to remember the sorrow
And again, the joy will come.
Night is coming, the hour has come,
I left, and the day waned.
We will stand here hand in hand,
And under the bridge of our hands
Tired from the eternal views of the river
Float and flicker in the distance.

Flies love like water like a river
Leaked love
Oh, how life is short
L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente

Pont Mirabeau pass by the waves of the Seine
And days of love
But I remember I humbly
The joy of grief was replaced
Let the beat watch the night comes
I remain the days race away
<...>
Love goes away like water spill
Love goes
Life leisurely

The door Rustles empty
A garden without lilies tuk-Tuk Silence
Whose they brought out the dead body
You get through to him I wanted
And so so quiet
Quiet what the fly heard

Not revealed my secret unto thee
Here the motorcade is approaching... But
Compassion is tormented both of us
That is not to be with you at the same time.
The fountain is crowned with flowers
Rode masks crowd
And trembles in me like a bell,
My secret, not disclosed to you.

I plucked this Heather purple...
Autumn is over - so in a way.
On earth we meet again
The smell of time - Heather purple,
But I'm waiting for you
Don't forget!

When the two noble hearts do love, their love is stronger than death itself.

The shadow is the ink that writes the sun.

... You're in Paris. You're all alone in the crowd and wandered, not knowing whither.
Right there next to you, moaning buses rushing herd.
His throat throbbed with longing you wrap your acute,
It's as if you never will love.

Love is free, never submits to the fate.

Days go by and life goes on.

Flew my sebetulnya
From me under the pouring rain
In town next flew my sebetulnya
There to dance with others
Neither woman is a liar liar.