A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought

The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!

There shall be poets! When woman's unmeasured bondage shall be broken, when she shall live for and through herself, man--hitherto detestable--having let her go, she, too, will be poet! Woman will find the unknown! Will her ideational worlds be different from ours? She will come upon strange, unfathomable, repellent, delightful things; we shall take them, we shall comprehend them.

As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.