May The Devil Himself Splatter You With

There Are Truths Which One Can Only Say After Having Won The Right To Say Them.

The Poet, By Composing Poems, Uses A Language That Is Neither Dead Nor Living, That Few People Speak, And Few People Understand We Are The Servants Of An Unknown Force That Lives Within Us, Manipulates Us, And Dictates This Language To Us.

Poetry, Being Elegance Itself, Cannot Hope To Achieve Visibility... It Insists On Living Its Own Life.

Silence Moves Faster When It's Going Backward.

Without Resistance You Can Do Nothing