Always Our Wars Have Been Our Confessions

I Think There Is A Choice Possible To Us At Any Moment, As Long As We Live. But There Is No Sacrifice. There Is A Choice, And The Rest Falls Away. Second Choice Does Not Exist. Beware Of Those Who Talk About Sacrifice.

A Work Of Art Is One Through Which The Consciousness Of The Artist Is Able To Give Its Emotions To Anyone Who Is Prepared To Receive Them.

I Am Haunted By Interrupted Acts, Introspective As A Leper, Enchanted By A Repulsive Clew, A Gross And Fugitive Movement Of The Limbs. Is This The Love That Shook The Lights To Flame?

I Lived In The First Century Of World Wars. Most Mornings I Would Be More Or Less Insane.

If There Were No Poetry On Any Day In The World, Poetry Would Be Invented That Day. For There Would Be An Intolerable Hunger.