One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.

Permit me voyage, love, into your hands.

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.

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

[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.

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

The fact that The Bridge contains folk lore and other material suitable to the epic form need not therefore prove its failure as a long lyric poem, with interrelated sections.