Erotic love is one of the highest forms of contemplation.

The mature man lives quietly, does good privately, takes responsibility for his actions, treats others with friendliness and courtesy, finds mischief boring and avoids it. Without the hidden conspiracy of goodwill, society would not endure an hour.

A white crowned night sparrow sings as the moon sets. Thunder growls far off. Our campfire is a single light. Amongst a hundred peaks and waterfalls. The manifold voices of falling water Take all night. Wrapped in your down bag Starlight on you cheeks and eyelids Your breath comes and goes In a tiny cloud in the frosty night. Ten thousand birds sing in the sunrise. Ten thousand years revolve without change. All this will never be again.

Against the ruin of the world, there is only one defense: the creative act.

I've had it with these cheap sons of bitches who claim they love poetry but never buy a book.

Art is the reasoned derangement of the senses.

Bohemia is a commune in which the Revolution is over and everyone is a member of the aristocracy