The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I

A Throw Of The Dice Will Never Abolish Chance.

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

The World Was Made In Order To Result In A Beautiful Book.

As For Me, Poetry Takes The Place Of Love, Because It Is Enamored Of Itself, And Because This Self-lust Has A Delightful Dying Fall In My Soul.

Every Soul Is A Melody Which Needs Renewing.