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.

Poetry is the art which is technically within the grasp of everyone: a piece of paper and a pencil and one is ready.

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.

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.

Evidently the arts, all the visual arts, are becoming more democratic in the worst sense of the word.

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

In reality art is always for everyone and for no one.