Above my cradle loomed the bookcase where/ Latin ashes and the dust of Greece/ mingled with novels, history, and verse/ in one dark Babel. I was folio-high/ when I first heard the voices.

Hashish will be, indeed, for the impressions and familiar thoughts of the man, a mirror which magnifies, yet no more than a mirror.

However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.

Drowsing, they take the noble attitude of a great sphinx, who, in a desert land, sleeps always, dreaming dreams that have no end.

On the vaporization and the centralization of the Self. All is there.

Multitude, solitude: equal and interchangeable terms for the active and prolific poet.

Dancing can reveal all the mystery that music conceals.