Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.

Make the visible a little hard to see.

Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill.

The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.

The people in the world, and the objects in it, and the world as a whole, are not absolute things, but on the contrary, are the phenomena of perception... If we were all alike: if we were millions of people saying do, re, mi, in unison, One poet would be enough... But we are not alone, and everything needs expounding all the time because, as people live and die, each one perceiving life and death for himself, and mostly by and in himself, there develops a curiosity about the perceptions of others. This is what makes it possible to go on saying new things about old things.

Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.

All of our ideas come from the natural world: trees equal umbrellas.