And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.

It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.

It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense,/ That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.