Life Is The Farce Which Everyone Has

The Poet Makes Himself A Voyant Through A Long, Immense Reasoned Deranging Of All His Senses. All The Forms Of Love, Of Suffering, Of Madness; He Tries To Find Himself, He Exhausts In Himself All The Poisons, To Keep Only Their Quintessences.

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

I Believe That I Am In Hell, Therefore I Am There.

I Dreamed Of Crusades, Voyages Of Discovery That Nobody Had Heard Of, Republics Without Histories, Religious Wars Stamped Out, Revolutions In Morals, Movements Of Races And Continents; I Used To Believe In Every Kind Of Magic. I Began It As An Investigation. I Turned Silences And Nights Into Words. What Was Unutterable, I Wrote Down. I Made The Whirling World Stand Still.

Genius Is The Recovery Of Childhood At Will.