In Its Early Stages, Insomnia Is Almost

- And How Time Flies! What, Has It Already Been Twenty Years, Already Forty Years That We Are Together? Why, How Terrible! We Haven't Yet Said All We Wanted To Say To Each Other... May We Have A Little Respite, Or Else May We Be Allowed To Begin All Over Again!

To A Poet, Silence Is An Acceptable Response, Even A Flattering One.

January, Month Of Empty Pockets! Let Us Endure This Evil Month, Anxious As A Theatrical Producer's Forehead.

Voluptuaries, Consumed By Their Senses, Always Begin By Flinging Themselves With A Great Display Of Frenzy Into An Abyss. But They Survive, They Come To The Surface Again. And They Develop A Routine Of The Abyss: It's Four O Clock. At Five I Have My Abyss.

On The First Of May, With My Comrades Of The Catechism Class, I Laid Lilac, Chamomile And Rose Before The Altar Of The Virgin, And Returned Full Of Pride To Show My Blessed Posy. My Mother Laughed Her Irreverent Laugh And, Looking At My Bunch Of Flowers, Which Was Bringing The May-bug Into The Sitting-room Right Under The Lamp, She Said: Do You Suppose It Wasn't Already Blessed Before?