Elegance Ceases To Exist When It Is

Poetry Is A Religion Without Hope, But Its Martyrs Guarantee The Eternal Truth Of Its Dogma.

Look Out! Be On Your Guard, Because Alone Of All The Arts, Music Moves All Around You.

The Eyes Of The Dead Are Closed Gently; We Also Have To Open Gently The Eyes Of The Living.

Here I Am Trying To Live, Or Rather, I Am Trying To Teach The Death Within Me How To Live.

There Are Too Many Souls Of Wood Not To Love Those Wooden Characters Who Do Indeed Have A Soul.