Mention697857
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| so:text | Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility. In that case, you ask me, of what use is it? Of no use. Who will see it? No one. Which does not prevent it from being an outrage to modesty, though its exhibitionism is squandered on the blind. It is enough for poetry to express a personal ethic, which can then break away in the form of a work. It insists on living its own life. It becomes the pretext for a thousand misunderstandings that go by the name of glory... (en) |
| so:isPartOf | https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Jean_Cocteau |
| so:description | On Invisibility (en) |
| so:description | Diary of an Unknown (1988) (en) |
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Triples where Mention697857 is the object (without rdf:type)
| qkg:Quotation661906 | qkg:hasMention |
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