Poetry is a religion with no hope.

My method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away.

The ultimate politeness in art consists of speaking only to those who are able to uncover and measure its relationships. Anything else is symbolic, and symbolism is merely transcendental imagery.

Silence moves faster when it's going backward.

It seems to me that invisibility is the required provision of elegance. Elegance ceases to exist when it is noticed.

Continue reading Proust. His magnificent intelligence is particularly fond of describing stupidity. Which is ultimately exhausting.

Art is not a pastime but a priesthood.