Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility... It insists on living its own life.
Art is science in the flesh.
History is a combination of reality and lies. The reality of History becomes a lie. The unreality of the fable becomes the truth.
Good music resembles something. It resembles the composer.
Beauty makes one lose one's head. Poetry is born of this decapitation
He has the manner of a giant with the look of a child, a lazy activeness, a mad wisdom, a solitude encompassing the world.