When We Drink Coffee, Ideas March In

This Coffee Falls Into Your Stomach, And Straightway There Is A General Commotion. Ideas Begin To Move Like The Battalions Of The Grand Army Of The Battlefield, And The Battle Takes Place. Things Remembered Arrive At Full Gallop, Ensuing To The Wind. The Light Cavalry Of Comparisons Deliver A Magnificent Deploying Charge, The Artillery Of Logic Hurry Up With Their Train And Ammunition, The Shafts Of With Start Up Like Sharpshooters. Similes Arise, The Paper Is Covered With Ink; For The Struggle Commences And Is Concluded With Torrents Of Black Water, Just As A Battle With Powder.

Many Men Nourish A Pride Which Urges Them To Conceal Their Struggles And Show Themselves Only As Conquerors.

A Lui La Foi, A' Elle Le Doute, A' Elle Le Fardeau Le Plus Lourd: La Femme Ne Souffre-t-elle Pas Toujours Pour Deux? For Him, Faith; For Her, Doubt And For Her Theheavier Load: Does Not The Woman Always Suffer For Both?

I'm A Great Poet. I Don't Put My Poems On Paper: They Consist Of Actions And Feelings.

It Would Be Curious To Know What Leads A Man To Become A Stationer Rather Than A Baker, When He Is No Longer Compelled, As Among The Egyptians, To Succeed To His Father's Craft.