Quotes from Alfred de Musset

Things they don't understand always cause a sensation among the English.

Partake of love as a temperate man partakes of wine; do not become intoxicated.

Become corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!" This has been the cry of all cities to man.

Take time as it comes, the wind as it blows, woman as she is.

The most despairing songs are the loveliest of all,I know immortal ones composed only of tears.

One must not trifle with love.

Oh! my friend, when you feel bursting on your lips the vow of eternal love, do not be afraid to yield, but do not confound wine with intoxication; do not think the cup divine because the draft is of celestial flavor; do not be astonished to find it broken and empty in the evening.

[I]f you are truly a man, sure of yourself and confident of your strength, you may taste of life without fear and without reserve; you may be sad or joyous, deceived or respected; but be sure you are loved, for what matters the rest?

Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content.

The return makes one love the farewell.

I have come too late into a world too old.

I cannot help it, — in spite of myself, infinity torments me.

"Become corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!" This has been the cry of all cities to man...

How glorious it is — and also how painful — to be an exception.

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.

Desgenais... was firm and serious, although a smile hovered about his lips. He was a man of heart, but as dry as a pumice-stone.

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.

It was one of those somber evenings when the sighing of the wind resembles the moans of a dying man; a storm was brewing, and between the splashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All nature suffers in such moments; the trees writhe in pain and twist their heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of cities are deserted.

Do Not Trifle with Love.

The most womanly woman.

We'll talk without listening to each other that is the best way to get along.

How glorious it is – and also how painful – to be an exception.

Romanticism is the abuse of adjectives

Man is a pupil, pain is his teacher.