Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.

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

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

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

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.

It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.