You can't escape the past in Paris, and yet what's so wonderful about it is that the past and present intermingle so intangibly that it doesn't seem to burden.

I want people to bow as they see me and say he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of the creator.

Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels.

he threw up his hands and wrote the Universe dont exist and died to prove it

The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction.

How sick i am! that thought Always comes to me with horror. Is it this strange for everybody? But such fugitive feelings have always been my metier.

Who’ll come lie down in the dark with me Belly to belly and knee to knee Who’ll look into my hooded eye Who’ll lie down under my darkened thigh?