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Louvre

Quotes about Louvre

45 quotes about Louvre.

Keep good company - that is, go to the Louvre.

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Jean Cocteau

The Louvre is a morgue; you go there to identify your friends.

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I haven't seen the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Louvre. I haven't seen anything. I don't really care.

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I've been fifty thousand times to the Louvre. I have copied everything in drawing, trying to understand.

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Picasso Votive Gift To Incoming Tides

picasso painting pictures
into soft moist tidal sands
Poseidon gift to windswept waves
Picasso gift to turn incoming tides
beach sunshine salt gift to eternities
Louvre masterpieces wet etch skies
random stroller fresh scribed ecstasies

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Masterpieces

Masterpieces
are not just found
in Paris Louvre
hung upon a wall

in Sistine Chapel
painted upon
ceiling old walls
masterpieces

can be frequent found
closer to sight home
hung in variant places
see all admission free

not just with two eyes
hear touch taste feel
absorb through senses
in skin caress breezes

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Healing Endurance

Misfortunes can be intense
In the hour of sadness,
But even earthquake ravages
Get rebuilt until a skyline
Is majestic again
With incredible architecture.

The way of humanity
Is to outdistance the trivial,
And to endure the heart rending
And miserable
Because healing is inevitable
And redeeming.

I have viewed the sun at sunset
For a moment hanging more beautifully
Than a painting in the Louvre
And my soul was awed.

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Victor Hugo

Est-il jour? Est-il nuit ? horreur crépusculaire!

Est-il jour ? Est-il nuit ? horreur crépusculaire !
Toute l'ombre est livrée à l'immense colère.
Coups de foudre, bruits sourds. Pâles, nous écoutons.
Le supplice imbécile et noir frappe à tâtons.
Rien de divin ne luit. Rien d'humain ne surnage.
Le hasard formidable erre dans le carnage,
Et mitraille un troupeau de vaincus, sans savoir
S'ils croyaient faire un crime ou remplir un devoir.
L'ombre engloutit Babel jusqu'aux plus hauts étages.
Des bandits ont tué soixante-quatre otages,
On réplique en tuant six mille prisonniers.
On pleure les premiers, on raille les derniers.
Le vent qui souffle a presque éteint cette veilleuse,
La conscience. Ô nuit ! brume ! heure périlleuse !
Les exterminateurs semblent doux, leur fureur
Plaît, et celui qui dit : Pardonnez ! fait horreur.
Ici l'armée et là le peuple ; c'est la France
Qui saigne ; et l'ignorance égorge l'ignorance.
Le droit tombe. Excepté Caïn, rien n'est debout.
Une sorte de crime épars flotte sur tout.

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Exploited Genius

Once upon a time ago
Lived a man named Vincent Van Gogh.
His style of painting vexed a few
With importunities anew:
His long broad strokes and use of light
Bright yellows, mauve were his delight
Blues and oranges caught the eye
Contrasting when placed side by side
For all the beauty he expressed
It left him poor and dispossessed.
Life seems to fault the advent man
It’s been that way since time began.
Deceased his work has now become
Treasures in Louvre museum.

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Nazim Hikmet

Gioconda And Si-Ya-U

to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U,
whose head was cut off in Shanghai

A CLAIM

Renowned Leonardo's
world-famous
"La Gioconda"
has disappeared.
And in the space
vacated by the fugitive
a copy has been placed.

The poet inscribing
the present treatise
knows more than a little
about the fate
of the real Gioconda.
She fell in love
with a seductive

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Charles Baudelaire

Le Cygne (The Swan)

À Victor Hugo

I

Andromaque, je pense à vous! Ce petit fleuve,
Pauvre et triste miroir où jadis resplendit
L'immense majesté de vos douleurs de veuve,
Ce Simoïs menteur qui par vos pleurs grandit,

A fécondé soudain ma mémoire fertile,
Comme je traversais le nouveau Carrousel.
Le vieux Paris n'est plus (la forme d'une ville
Change plus vite, hélas! que le coeur d'un mortel);

Je ne vois qu'en esprit tout ce camp de baraques,
Ces tas de chapiteaux ébauchés et de fûts,
Les herbes, les gros blocs verdis par l'eau des flaques,
Et, brillant aux carreaux, le bric-à-brac confus.

Là s'étalait jadis une ménagerie;

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Golden Harp

Castanets shriveled gold glare
Used and sheer silk stockings
Titans of quantity
Abyss of abandoned ideals

Inspired like Paris
Fallen on breasts of iron
Carved in smooth swans
Monuments of voluptuous fleece

Rise with sails and draughts of pearl
Grasp that which no asp attacks
Gardens that never cry
Strength elevate with turquoise

Diadem marvelous in new ether
We speak like roes and lions
Tired of the old translucent heart
Framed in the Louvre forever

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To The P.R.B.

Woolner and Stephens, Collinson, Millais,
And my first brother, each and every one,
What portion is theirs now beneath the sun
Which, even as here, in England makes to-day?
For most of them life runs not the same way
Always, but leaves the thought at loss: I know
Merely that Woolner keeps not even the show
Of work, nor is enough awake for play.
Meanwhile Hunt and myself race at full speed
Along the Louvre, and yawn from school to school,
Wishing worn-out those masters known as old.
And no man asks of Browning; though indeed
(As the book travels with me) any fool
Who would might hear Sordello's story told.

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Tatooed Lovers

Hey Babe
How can we forget?
Those paradise days
In the city of Paris!

Seine river cruising
Eiffel tower dinner
Shows after shows!

Le Moulin Rouge
Le Crazy Horse
Le Crazy Girls
Le Femme
Le Lido de Paris
Le Paradis Latin
The great Parisian shows!

We were happy
L'Open Hope –on
Hop-off Tour

[...] Read more

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For An Allegorical Dance Of Women By Andrea Mantegna

(In the Louvre)
SCARCELY, I think; yet it indeed may be
The meaning reached him, when this music rang
Clear through his frame, a sweet possessive pang,
And he beheld these rocks and that ridged sea.
But I believe that, leaning tow'rds them, he
Just felt their hair carried across his face
As each girl passed him; nor gave ear to trace
How many feet; nor bent assuredly
His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
To know the dancers. It is bitter glad
Even unto tears. Its meaning filleth it,
A secret of the wells of Life: to wit:—
The heart's each pulse shall keep the sense it had
With all, though the mind's labour run to nought.

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George Meredith

Modern Love XXXIII: In Paris, at the Louvre

'In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen
The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce
Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce,
Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!
The young Pharsalians did not disarray
Less willingly their locks of floating silk:
That suckling mouth of his, upon the milk
Of heaven might still be feasting through the fray.
Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight,
They conquer not upon such easy terms.
Half serpent in the struggle grow these worms
And does he grow half human, all is right.'
This to my Lady in a distant spot,
Upon the theme: While mind is mastering clay,
Gross clay invades it. If the spy you play,
My wife, read this! Strange love talk, is it not?

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Jacques Prevert

Osiris ou la fuite en Égypte

C'est la guerre c'est l'été
Déjà l'été encore la guerre
Et la ville isolée désolée
Sourit sourit encore
Sourit sourit quand même
De son doux regard d'été
Sourit doucement à ceux qui s'aiment
C'est la guerre c'est l'été
Un homme avec une femme
Marchent dans un musée désert
Ce musée c'est le Louvre
Cette ville c'est Paris
Et la fraicheur du monde
Est là tout endormie
Un gardien se réveille en entendant les pas
Appuie sur un bouton et retombe dans son rêve
Cependant qu'apparaît dans sa niche de pierre
La merveille de l'Égypte debout dans sa lumière
La statue d'Osiris vivante dans le bois mort
Vivante à faire mourir une nouvelle fois de plus

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Time Runs Out

Spill the paint over a circus clock
Time is set
Pulse and waves in slanted disdain
Paradise broken
Spanish tears opaque museum
Live the will of a new door
Painter and poets crushed incants
Arrange the stars that cry
Mortality amidst your dream caves
No hands folded
No pious genuflection
Stations of art
Birth just a shadow
Bold libido with golden wings
Circles where writers gather
Tombs garnished by Dali

Fauves red blue angst
Eaten by wild beasts
Cezanne soars in the Louvre

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London Holds My Heart

I'd kill to see the lights of London
Out of the windows of my room
Or to gaze upon the streets of Cairo
And farther out all of the pharaohs' tombs
I'd love to see the Eiffel Tower
And the Louvre's pieces of art
But there is only one city I could stay in
For only London holds my heart
To gaze across Scottish meadows
And bask in the light of an Irish moon
To hear the street musicians of Rome
Doling out their classic tunes
I want to fall asleep at sunset
In the snug bed of an Israel inn
And sip the finest of Greek wines
And lay with Arabian silks caressing my skin
How it would be to walk the deserts of Mecca
Or bathe in the Nile river for a few nights
To wander the vast jungles of Africa
And see the exotic birds take flight

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That Delicious Throat

Inescapable from the forceful arms of dreams,
I fall ecstatically on soft silk sheets,
My heart is pounding wildly
Thinking of her gorgeous body
Relenting to my pursuit,
Becoming one with my desire.

There is nothing light or shallow
In my fantasy to entwine my fingers in her hair,
To breathe her every feminine scent,
To possess her completely,
To kiss her lips and then dissolve
Into her soul.

I am captivated by her throat,
That delicious throat that I have seen
Wrapped in fashionable scarves
Or displaying the most hypnotic necklaces,
A throat designed for a master sculptor to sculpt
And then preserve majestically in the Louvre,

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