True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.

. . . be absolute moderne.

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.

Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.

Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

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

...You have to pass an exam, and the jobs that you get are either to shine shoes, or to herd cows, or to tend pigs. Thank God, I don't want any of that! Damn it! And besides that they smack you for a reward; they call you an animal and it's not true, a little kid, etc.. Oh! Damn Damn Damn Damn Damn!