Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun.
Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.