Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams.

...and the lamp having at last resigned itself to death. There was nothing now but firelight in the room, And every time a flame uttered a gasp for breath It flushed her amber skin with the blood of its bloom.

We all have the republican spirit in our veins, like syphilis in our bones. We are democratized and venerealized.

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

Whether you come from heaven or hell, what does it matter, O Beauty!

A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.

I will drop into your chest like a vegetal ambrosia. I will be the grain that regenerates the cruelly plowed furrow. Poetry will be born of our intimate union. A god we shall create together, and we shall soar heavenward like sunbeams, perfumes, butterflies, birds, and all winged things.