It Is From The Womb Of Art

Evil Comes Up Softly Like A Flower.

Even In The Centuries Which Appear To Us To Be The Most Monstrous And Foolish, The Immortal Appetite For Beauty Has Always Found Satisfaction.

The Man Who Says His Evening Prayer Is A Captain Posting His Sentinels. He Can Sleep.

Multitude, Solitude: Equal And Interchangeable Terms For The Active And Prolific Poet.

From Satan Or From God, What Matter? Angel Or Siren, What Matter, If You Make - Fairy With Velvet Eyes, Rhythm, Perfume, Light, O My Only Queen - The Universe Less Hideous, Each Moment Less Strained?