Rene Char Quotes

Be gful to the man who cares nothing for your remorse. You are his equal.

It is not whether your words or actions are tough or gentle; it is the spirit behind your actions and words that announces your inner state.

You only fight well for causes you yourself have shaped, with which you identify - and burn.

Develop your legitimate strangeness.

How did writing come to me? Like bird's down on my windowpane, in winter. Just then there rose in the heart a struggle of firebrands, which has, still now, not ended.

No man, unless he be dead in living, can feel at anchor in this life.

Impose your luck, embrace your happiness and go toward your risks: by looking at you, they'll get used to it.

Cheat at this game.

Eternity is not much longer than life.

I believe in the magic and in the authority of words

For an inheritance to be really great, the hand of the defunct must not be seen.

Man is able to do what he is unable to imagine. His head trails a wake through the galaxy of the absurd.

To be a poet is to have an appetite for a certain anxiety which, when tasted among the swirling sum of things existent or forfeit, causes, as the taste dies, joy.

Each act is virgin, even the repeated ones.

Imagination consists in expelling from reality many incomplete persons, making use of the magical and subversive powers of desire, to obtain their return in the form of a completely satisfying presence. This, then, is the inextinguishable, uncreated reality.

How can we live without the unknown before us?

there is no absence that cannot be replaced

Children and geniuses know that there is no bridge, only the water that lets itself be crossed.

What can be seductive about the eternal nothing is that the finest day is indifferently this one or any other like it.

In the darkness of our lives, there is not one place for Beauty. The whole place is for Beauty.

Companions in pathos,who barely murmur,go with your lamp spent and return the jewels. A new mystery sings in your bones. Cultivate your legitimate strangeness.

In my land we don't question someone who has been touched deeply.
There is no malign shadow over capsized boats.

In the streets of the town goes my love. Small matter where
she moves in divided time. She is no longer my love, anyone may speak with her. She remembers no longer: who exactly loved her?
She seeks her equal in glances, pledging. The space she traverses
is my faithfulness. She traces a hope and lightly dismisses it.
She is dominant without taking part.
I live in her depth, a joyous shipwreck. Without her knowing,
my solitude is her treasure. In the great meridian where her soaring
is inscribed, my freedom delves deep in her.
In the streets of the town goes my love. Small matter where
she moves in divided time. She is no longer my love, anyone may
speak with her. She remembers no longer: who exactly loved her,
and lights her from afar, lest she should fall?

from "Fidelity

What comes into the world to disturb nothing merits neither attention nor patience

I believe in the magic and authority of words.

The poem is furious ascension; poetry, the game of arid riverbanks. I am a man of riverbanks – excavation and inflammation – not always able to be torrent.

There is only the one like me, the companion man or woman, who can wake me from my torpor, set off the poetry, hurl me against the limits of the old desert for me to triumph over it. No other. Neither sky nor privileged earth, now things which set you to trembling.
Torch, I only waltz with that one.

A poem is the realization of love ...