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

A throw of the dice will never abolish chance.

As for me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because this self-lust has a delightful dying fall in my soul.

There is only beauty / and it has only one perfect expression / poetry. All the rest is a lie /except for those who live by the body, love, and, that love of the mind, friendship. For me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because its sensual delight falls back deliciously in my soul.

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.

In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation.

You don't make a poem with ideas, but with words.