No One's Serious At Seventeen.

True Alchemy Lies In This Formula: ‘your Memory And Your Senses Are But The Nourishment Of Your Creative Impulse’.

You Will Always Be A Hyena.

Weakness Or Strength: You Exist, That Is Strength. You Don't Know Where You Are Going Or Why You Are Going, Go In Everywhere, Answer Everyone. No One Will Kill You, Any More Than If You Were A Corpse.

The Poet Makes Himself A Voyant Through A Long, Immense Reasoned Deranging Of All His Senses. All The Forms Of Love, Of Suffering, Of Madness; He Tries To Find Himself, He Exhausts In Himself All The Poisons, To Keep Only Their Quintessences.

It Was The Voice Of Mad Seas, Roaring Immense,/ That Shattered Your Infant Breast, Too Soft, Too Human.