Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.

What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.

Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!

And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.

As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.