It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.
To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.
It is in front of the the paper that the artist creates himself.
The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.
The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme.
In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation.