The Poet Is At The Disposal Of

It Is Not Inspiration; It Is Expiration.

I Succeeded In Bewitching A Fair Number And In Being Intoxicated With My Mistakes.

I Have Seafoam In My Veins, I Understand The Language Of Waves.

Understand That Some Of Your Enemies Are Amongst Your Best Friends.

The Job Of The Poet (a Job Which Can't Be Learned) Consists Of Placing Those Objects Of The Visible World Which Have Become Invisible Due To The Glue Of Habit, In An Unusual Position Which Strikes The Soul And Gives Them A Tragic Force.