One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them.

I can remember much forgetfulness.

[The essences of things] are suspended on the invisible dimension whose vibrance has been denied the human eye at all times save in the intuition of ecstasy.

I cannot figure out just what Dadaism is beyond an insane jumble of the four winds, the six senses, and plum pudding. But if the Baroness is to be a keystone for it, — then I think I can possibly know when it is coming and avoid it.

Love: a burnt match skating in a urinal.

Your primary presumption that The Bridge was proffered as an epic has no substantial foundation. You know quite well that I doubt that our present stage of cultural development is so ordered yet as to provide the means or method for such an organic manifestation as that.

Let my lusts be my ruin, then, since all else is a fake and a mockery.