A Throw Of The Dice Will Never

Dreams Have As Much Influences As Actions.

Everything That Is Sacred And That Wishes To Remain So Must Envelop Itself In Mystery.

The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I Have Read All The Books.

Yes, I Know, We Are Merely Empty Forms Of Matter, But We Are Indeed Sublime In Having Invented God And Our Soul. So Sublime, My Friend, That I Want To Gaze Upon Matter, Fully Conscious That It Exists, And Yet Launching Itself Madly Into Dream, Despite Its Knowledge That Dream Has No Existence, Extolling The Soul And All The Divine Impressions Of That Kind Which Have Collected Within Us From The Beginning Of Time And Proclaiming, In The Face Of The Void Which Is Truth, These Glorious Lies!

Poetry Is The Language Of A State Of Crisis.