Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.

I could never throw Love out of the window.

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

The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea

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.

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 wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.