The Eye Is Not Open When It

Past And Future Monopolize The Poet’s Sensory And Intellectual Faculties, Detached From The Immediate Spectacle. These Two Philtres Become Utterly Clear The Moment One Stops Being Hypnotized By The Cloudy Precipitate Constituted By The World Of Today.

...with The End Of My Breath, Which Is The Beginning Of Yours.

The Pure Playfulness Of Certain Wholly Whimsical Portions Of (charles) Cros’s Work Should Not Obscure The Fact That At The Center Of Some Of His Most Beautiful Poems A Revolver Is Leveled Straight At Us.

If Surrealism Ever Comes To Adopt A Particular Line Of Moral Conduct, It Has Only To Accept The Discipline That Picasso Has Accepted And Will Continue To Accept.

What One Hides Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Finds. And What One Hides From Oneself Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Allows Others To Find.