Paintings Are Painted With Paint, Not With

As For Me, Poetry Takes The Place Of Love, Because It Is Enamored Of Itself, And Because This Self-lust Has A Delightful Dying Fall In My Soul.

Everything In The World Exists In Order To End Up As A Book.

In A Museum In London There Is An Exhibit Called "the Value Of Man": A Long Coffinlike Box With Lots Of Compartments Where They've Put Starch Phosphorus Flour Bottles Of Water And Alcohol And Big Pieces Of Gelatin. I Am A Man Like That.

Every Soul Is A Melody Which Needs Renewing.

Poetry Is The Language Of A State Of Crisis.