Today not even a universal fire could make the torrential poetic production of our time disappear. But it is exactly a question of production, that is, of hand-made products which are subject to the laws of taste and fashion.

There is poetry even in prose, in all the great prose which is not merely utilitarian or didactic: there exist poets who write in prose or at least in more or less apparent prose; millions of poets write verses which have no connection with poetry.

Against the dark background of this contemporary civilization of well-being, even the arts tend to mingle, to lose their identity.

True poetry is similar to certain pictures whose owner is unknown and which only a few initiated people know.

However, poetry does not live solely in books or in school anthologies.

The new man is born too old to tolerate the new world. The present conditions of life have not yet erased the traces of the past. We run too fast, but we still do not move enough. He looks but he does not contemplate, he sees but he does not think.

Holidays - Have no pity.