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.

To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.

A throw of the dice will never abolish chance.

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

The pure work implies the disappearance of the poet as speaker, who hands over to the words.

The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.

Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book.