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

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.

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

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.

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?

Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea

Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.

What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.

Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.