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.
A throw of the dice will never abolish chance.
Every soul is a melody which needs renewing.
It is in front of the the paper that the artist creates himself.
Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book.
Everything that is sacred and that wishes to remain so must envelop itself in mystery.