Poets don't finish poems, they abandon them.

Every soul is a melody which needs renewing.

It is in front of the the paper that the artist creates himself.

I have made a long enough descent into the void to speak with certainty. There is nothing but beauty--and beauty has only one perfect expression, Poetry. All the rest is a lie.

Everything that is sacred and that wishes to remain so must envelop itself in mystery.

A soul trembling to sit by a hearth so bright, To exist again, it’s enough if I borrow from Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.

Paint, not the thing but the effect which it produces.