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

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.

If a hermit lives in a state of ecstasy, his lack of comfort becomes the height of comfort. He must relinquish it.

The course of a river is almost always disapproved of by the source.

Watch yourself all your life in a mirror and you'll see Death at work like bees in a glass hive.

Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility... It insists on living its own life.

The poet is at the disposal of the night. His role is humble, he must clean house and await its due visitation.