I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.

For a long time I found the celebrities of modern painting and poetry ridiculous. I loved absurd pictures, fanlights, stage scenery, mountebanks backcloths, inn-signs, cheap colored prints; unfashionable literature, church Latin, pornographic books badly spelt, grandmothers novels, fairy stories, little books for children, old operas, empty refrains, simple rhythms.

What am I doing here?

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

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

Then you'll feel your cheek scratched... A little kiss, like a crazy spider, Will run round your neck... And you'll say to me : "Find it !" bending your head - And we'll take a long time to find that creature - Which travels a lot.

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