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

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

What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death!

...these poets here, you see, they are not of this world:let them live their strange life; let them be cold and hungry, let them run, love and sing: they are as rich as Jacques Coeur, all these silly children, for they have their souls full of rhymes, rhymes which laugh and cry, which make us laugh or cry: Let them live: God blesses all the merciful: and the world blesses the poets.

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn

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

Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.