The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea

But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

I'm now making myself as scummy as I can. Why? I want to be a poet, and I'm working at turning myself into a seer. You won't understand any of this, and I'm almost incapable of explaining it to you. The idea is to reach the unknown by the derangement of all the senses. It involves enormous suffering, but one must be strong and be a born poet. It's really not my fault.

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.

And again: No more gods! no more gods! Man is King, Man is God! - But the great Faith is Love!

On the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths, And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat: Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet. I will let the wind bathe my bare head. I will not speak, I will have no thoughts: But infinite love will mount in my soul; And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy, through the countryside - as happy as if I were a woman. "Sensation