Guillaume Apollinaire

Guillaume Apollinaire
Guillaume Apollinairewas a French poet, playwright, short story writer, novelist, and art critic of Polish descent...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 August 1880
CountryFrance
jesus sky bird
Twentieth pupil of the centuries knows its stuff and bird-changed this century like Jesus climbs the sky.
people criticism mystery
People quickly grow accustomed to being the slaves of mystery.
rain eye soul
It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.
art personality purity
To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.
beautiful song war
My, how beautiful is war! its songs, its leisure!
art intuition three
The new painters do not propose, any more than did their predecessors, to be geometers. But it may be said that geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer. Today, scholars no longer limit themselves to the three dimensions of Euclid. The painters have been lead quite naturally, one might say by intuition, to preoccupy themselves with the new possibilities of spatial measurement which, in the language of the modern studios, are designated by the term fourth dimension.
unity purity virtue
The plastic virtues: purity, unity, and truth, keep nature in subjection.
fall artist civilization
Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.
nature elements architecture
A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.
pain joy
Joy came always after pain.
art men order
Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed. The order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish. Everything would break up in chaos. There would be no seasons, no civilization, no thought, no humanity; even life would give way, and the impotent void would reign everywhere.
joy pleasure wander
I sing the joy of wandering and the pleasure of the wanderer's death
color fruit colour
Color is the fruit of life.
love heart men
I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.