O gouvernment francais, I think it was not very clever of You to put this terrible doll in La Ferte; for when Governments are found dead there is always a little doll on top of them, pulling and tweaking with his little hands to get back at the microscopic knife which sticks firmly in the quiet meat of their hearts.

If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.

in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems

What time is it? It is by every star a different time, and each most falsely true.

Seeker of truth follow no path all paths lead where truth is here.

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.