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

To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

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

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.

Life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed by a desire to change his bed.

A book is a garden, a party, a company by the way.