The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses

I am a better person when I let myself have the time for romance and for love.

Family is becoming more and more important to me.

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

No one's serious at seventeen.

A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?

I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.

The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.

I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.

I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.

Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.

I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?

I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.

The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea

Morality is the weakness of the mind.

What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?