The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.
Paint, not the thing but the effect which it produces.
The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme.
Poets don't finish poems, they abandon them.
Dreams have as much influences as actions.
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.