The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I

There Is Only Beauty / And It Has Only One Perfect Expression / Poetry. All The Rest Is A Lie /except For Those Who Live By The Body, Love, And, That Love Of The Mind, Friendship. For Me, Poetry Takes The Place Of Love, Because It Is Enamored Of Itself, And Because Its Sensual Delight Falls Back Deliciously In My Soul.

The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I Have Read All The Books.

Dreams Have As Much Influences As Actions.

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

Everything In The World Exists In Order To End Up As A Book.