Dreams Have As Much Influences As Actions.

You Don't Make A Poem With Ideas, But With Words.

Poets Don't Finish Poems, They Abandon Them.

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

O Naked Flower Of My Lips, You Lie! I Await A Thing Unknown Or Perhaps, Unaware Of The Mystery And Your Cries You Give, O Lips, The Supreme Tortured Moans Of A Childhood Groping Among Its Reveries To Sort Out Finally Its Cold Precious Stones.

The World Exists To End Up In A Book.