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

...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.

For a long time I found the celebrities of modern painting and poetry ridiculous. I loved absurd pictures, fanlights, stage scenery, mountebanks backcloths, inn-signs, cheap colored prints; unfashionable literature, church Latin, pornographic books badly spelt, grandmothers novels, fairy stories, little books for children, old operas, empty refrains, simple rhythms.

Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.

. . . be absolute moderne.

Then you'll feel your cheek scratched... A little kiss, like a crazy spider, Will run round your neck... And you'll say to me : "Find it !" bending your head - And we'll take a long time to find that creature - Which travels a lot.

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