Alfred Louis Charles de Musset-Pathay (December 11, 1810 – May 2, 1857) was 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 (The Confession of a Child of the Century). (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
Alas, everything that men say to one another is alike; the ideas they exchange are almost always the same, in their conversation. But inside all those isolated machines, what hidden recesses, what secret compartments! It is an entire world that each one carries within him, an unknown world that is born and dies in silence! What solitudes all these human bodies are!
Doubt, if you will, the being who loves you,
Woman or dog, but never doubt love itself.
Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content.
Experience is the name men give to their follies or their sorrows.
Great artists have no country.
How glorious it is- and also how painful- to be an exception.
I cannot help it- in spite of myself, infinity torments me.
Life is a deep sleep of which love is the dream.
Man is a pupil, pain is his teacher.
Memory is what makes us young or old.
Perfection does not exist. To understand this is the triumph of human intelligence; to expect to possess it is the most dangerous kind of madness.
Reason may cure illusions, but not suffering.
Take time as it comes, the wind as it blows, woman as she is.
The costliest women are the ones who cost nothing.
The heart that once has been your shrine for other loves is too divine
The most despairing songs are the most beautiful, and I know some immortal ones that are pure tears.
The mouth keeps silent to hear the heart speak.
The only truth is love beyond reason.
The return makes one love the farewell.
There is no worse sorrow than remembering happiness in the day of sorrow.
We seem to be subsisting on the ruins of the past, as if the end of the world were near.