I Am A Cemetery By The Moon

The Poet Enjoys The Incomparable Privilege Of Being Able To Be Himself And Others, As He Wishes.

There Is A Certain Cowardice, A Certain Weakness, Rather, Among Respectable Folk. Only Brigands Are Convinced-of What? That They Must Succeed. And So They Do Succeed.

Man Loves Man So Much That When He Flees The City, It Is Still To Seek The Crowd, That Is, To Rebuild The City In The Country.

All Good And Genuine Draftsmen Draw According To The Picture Inscribed In Their Minds, And Not According To Nature.

What Do I Care If You Are Good? Be Beautiful! And Be Sad!