If I told you the whole story it would never end...What's happened to me has happened to a thousand woman.

Hour of Stars (1920) The round silence of night, one note on the stave of the infinite. Ripe with lost poems, I step naked into the street. The blackness riddled by the singing of crickets: sound, that dead will-o'-the-wisp, that musical light perceived by the spirit. A thousand butterfly skeletons sleep within my walls. A wild crowd of young breezes over the river.

My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.

Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.

At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy.

The day hunger disappears, the world will see the greatest spiritual explosion humanity has ever seen.

Theatre is poetry that rises from the book and becomes human enough to talk and shout, weep and despair