Poets Don't Finish Poems, They Abandon Them.

You Don't Make A Poem With Ideas, But With Words.

The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I Have Read All The Books.

The Poetic Act Consists Of Suddenly Seeing That An Idea Splits Up Into A Number Of Equal Motifs And Of Grouping Them; They Rhyme.

The Pure Work Implies The Disappearance Of The Poet As Speaker, Who Hands Over To The Words.

Dreams Have As Much Influences As Actions.