The world exists to end up in a book.

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

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

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 throw of the dice will never abolish chance.

The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme.

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