He Has The Manner Of A Giant

Cultivate Everything The Critics Hated In Your First Work - That's What Makes You Unique.

Since The Day Of My Birth, My Death Began Its Walk. It Is Walking Toward Me, Without Hurrying.

Every Poem Is A Coat Of Arms. It Must Be Deciphered. How Much Blood, How Many Tears In Exchange For These Axes, These Muzzles, These Unicorns, These Torches, These Towers, These Martlets, These Seedlings Of Stars And These Fields Of Blue!

A True Poet Does Not Bother To Be Poetical. Nor Does A Nursery Gardener Scent His Roses.

The Joy Of Youth Is To Disobey; But The Trouble Is That There Are No Longer Any Orders.