A Quote by Paul Verlaine

The poet is a madman lost in adventure. — © Paul Verlaine
The poet is a madman lost in adventure.
The fellow is either a madman or a poet.
No nation can advance unless the old ideals of exploration and adventure are lived. There must be lives lost in flying, as in every other step of progress, and as many lives have been lost in the past, but there is no need to run foolish risks. The search for adventure need not entail foolhardiness. Fear is a tonic and danger should be something of a stimulant
If a poet would work politically, he must give himself up to a party; and so soon as he does that, he is lost as a poet.
If the poet wants to be a poet, the poet must force the poet to revise. If the poet doesn't wish to revise, let the poet abandon poetry and take up stamp-collecting or real estate.
The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason.
There is only one difference between a madman and me. The madman thinks he is sane. I know I am mad.
I love adventure movies, I just love action adventure films. It's pure cinema and you go in and you're lost to it. To me, it's that challenge - I want to give an audience that ride, that entertainment.
Wherever the choice has had to be made between the man of reason and the madman, the world has unhesitatingly followed the madman.
Every madman considers everyone else a madman.
If a man comes to the door of poetry untouched by the madness of the Muses, believing that technique alone will make him a good poet, he and his sane compositions never reach perfection, but are utterly eclipsed by the performances of the inspired madman.
Nothing sweeter than to drag oneself along behind events; and nothing more reasonable. But without a strong dose of madness, no initiative, no enterprise, no gesture. Reason: the rust of our vitality. It is the madman in us who forces us to adventure; once he abandons us, we are lost; everything depends on him, even our vegetative life; it is he who invites us, who obliges us to breathe, and it is also he who forces our blood to venture through our veins. Once he withdraws, we are alone indeed! We cannot be normal and alive at the same time.
William Waltz will take me through 'the buzz and clamor in a forest of hearts.' Adventures in the Lost Interiors of America is an adventure, I will go on this adventure with Waltz as a skillful, faithful, compass-true guide. I love this book.
A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure.
Did the gods once mingle with humankind, or is Homer a visionary madman, or, what is worse, a mere poet, a maker-up of beautiful falsities, an elegant liar? I shall grapple with that perplexity, only to emerge as I went in, in a cloud of unknowing, if perhaps a little the wiser.
The Church has lost a great religious poet in me; but I have lost an infinity of fun in the church, so the loss is even.
I don't like the stigma that comes with being called a poet . . . So I call what I'm doing an improvisational adventure or an inebriational travelogue.
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