Even Money, Which Shines So Much, Spits

There's No Doubt That I Really Have A Feeling For The Theater. These Past Few Days It Has Occurred To Me To Do A Comedy Whose Chief Characters Are Photographic Enlargements. Those People We See In Doorways. Newlyweds, Sergeants, Dead Girls, An Anonymous Crowd Full Of Mustaches And Wrinkles. It Should Be Terrible. If I Focus It Well, It Will Possess Pathos Without Consolation. In The Midst Of Those People I Will Place An Authentic Fairy.

The Artist, And Particularly The Poet, Is Always An Anarchist In The Best Sense Of The Word. He Must Heed Only The Call That Arises Within Him From Three Strong Voices: The Voice Of Death, With All Its Foreboding, The Voice Of Love And The Voice Of Art.

My Tongue Is Pierced With Glass.

Those Who Are Afraid Of Death Will Carry It On Their Shoulders.

I Was Lucky Enough To See With My Own Eyes The Recent Stock-market Crash, Where They Lost Several Million Dollars, A Rabble Of Dead Money That Went Sliding Off Into The Sea.