The artist is a kind of prison from which the works of art escape.

Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of stars and these fields of blue!

The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication: that is why so many bad artists are unable to give it up.

French people are Italian people in a bad mood.

One of the characteristics of the dream is that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.

Beauty makes one lose one's head. Poetry is born of this decapitation

Living is a horizontal fall.