The greatest tragedy is not death, but forgetting one's mother tongue.
最大的悲劇不是死亡,而是遺忘母語。
A people without poetry is like a night without stars.
沒有詩歌的民族如同沒有星星的夜晚。
The mistral may howl, but the olive tree bends without breaking.
密史脫拉風或許會呼嘯,但橄欖樹彎曲卻不會折斷。
Every flower in Provence knows my name, and I know the secret of each petal.
普羅旺斯的每朵花都知道我的名字,而我知道每片花瓣的秘密。
The true poem is written not with ink but with blood.
真正的詩篇不是用墨水而是用鮮血寫就的。
To sing of one's land is to love it twice.
歌頌自己的土地等于愛它兩次。
The Proven?al language is not dead; it sleeps in the hearts of the people, waiting to be awakened.
普羅旺斯語沒有消亡;它沉睡在人們心中,等待被喚醒。
A poet must be like a tree, rooted in his native soil, drawing nourishment from it to bear fruit.
詩人必須像一棵樹,扎根于故土,從中汲取養(yǎng)分才能結出果實。
Love is the only thing that can fill the eternal emptiness of the human heart.
愛是唯一能填補人類心靈永恒空虛的東西。
The sun, the sea, the wind—these are the eternal poets.
太陽、大海、風——這些是永恒的詩人。