Armed with madness, I go on a long voyage.
Frog or pearl, life hid something at the bottom of the cup.
Not till the end of the war will there be any time for art or love or magic again. Perhaps never again.
For watching death, and above all, after death; not death in battle, but death after battle, brings one to certain indifferences that are also a form of death.
I blessed the power which has filled my life with poetry.
Art is the god you have not seen.