Glance is the enemy of vision.

Speak against unconscious oppression, Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative, Speak against bonds.

And New York is the most beautiful city in the world? It is not far from it. No urban night is like the night there... Squares after squares of flame, set up and cut into the aether. Here is our poetry, for we have pulled down the stars to our will.

As for literature It gives no man a sinecure. And no one knows, at sight, a masterpiece. And give up verse, my boy, There's nothing in it.

I dunno what my 23 infantile years in America signify. I left as soon as motion was autarchic -- I mean my motion.

The rustling of the silk is discontinued, Dust drifts over the courtyard, There is not sound of footfall, and the leaves Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.

This is no book. Whoever touches this touches a man.