To See, To Hear, Means Nothing. To

The Eye Is Not Open When It Is Limited To The Passive Role Of A Mirror... If It Has Only The Capacity To Reflect.

We All Love Conflagrations. When The Sky Changes Color, It Is A Dead Man's Passing.

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.

How Small These Rescued Tides Appear! Earthly Delights Flow In Torrents. Each Object Offers Paradise.

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.