Poets Don't Finish Poems, They Abandon Them.

Dreams Have As Much Influences As Actions.

In A Museum In London There Is An Exhibit Called "the Value Of Man": A Long Coffinlike Box With Lots Of Compartments Where They've Put Starch Phosphorus Flour Bottles Of Water And Alcohol And Big Pieces Of Gelatin. I Am A Man Like That.

O Naked Flower Of My Lips, You Lie! I Await A Thing Unknown Or Perhaps, Unaware Of The Mystery And Your Cries You Give, O Lips, The Supreme Tortured Moans Of A Childhood Groping Among Its Reveries To Sort Out Finally Its Cold Precious Stones.

A Throw Of The Dice Will Never Abolish Chance.

Everything That Is Sacred And That Wishes To Remain So Must Envelop Itself In Mystery.