At first glance, the rhythm may be confused with gaiety, but when you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical, empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.

Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.

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

Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.

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

The wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the crowd broke the windows At five in the afternoon. Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!

There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them.