Tomorrow is our permanent address.

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear. . .

By the way, a gendarme assured me this is not a prison.

Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn, a human being.

So far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was, is, and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality.

Do not hate or fear the artist in yourselves... Honor and love him...do not try to possess him. Trust him as nobly as you trust tomorrow. Only the artist in yourself is more truthful than the night.

Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?