I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The

But, Truly, I Have Wept Too Much! The Dawns Are Heartbreaking. Every Moon Is Atrocious And Every Sun Bitter.

My Wisdom Is As Spurned As Chaos. What Is My Nothingness, Compared To The Amazement That Awaits You?

True Life Is Elsewhere

The Only Unbearable Thing Is That Nothing Is Unbearable.

...these Poets Here, You See, They Are Not Of This World:let Them Live Their Strange Life; Let Them Be Cold And Hungry, Let Them Run, Love And Sing: They Are As Rich As Jacques Coeur, All These Silly Children, For They Have Their Souls Full Of Rhymes, Rhymes Which Laugh And Cry, Which Make Us Laugh Or Cry: Let Them Live: God Blesses All The Merciful: And The World Blesses The Poets.