It Was The East That Should Have

Elegance Ceases To Exist When It Is Noticed.

One Of The Characteristics Of The Dream Is That Nothing Surprises Us In It. With No Regret, We Agree To Live In It With Strangers, Completely Cut Off From Our Habits And Friends.

Stupidity Is Always Astounding, No Matter How Often One Encounters It.

Such Is The Role Of Poetry. It Unveils, In The Strict Sense Of The Word. It Lays Bare, Under A Light Which Shakes Off Torpor, The Surprising Things Which Surround Us And Which Our Senses Record Mechanically.

Here I Am Trying To Live, Or Rather, I Am Trying To Teach The Death Within Me How To Live.