If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.

The word is the making of the world

The imperfect is our paradise.

The poet is the priest of the invisible.

Life is not free from its forms.

True villains are extremely photogenic.

It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.