Paint, Not The Thing But The Effect

It Is The Job Of Poetry To Clean Up Our Word-clogged Reality By Creating Silences Around Things.

The World Was Made In Order To Result In A Beautiful Book.

It Is In Front Of The The Paper That The Artist Creates Himself.

The Poetic Act Consists Of Suddenly Seeing That An Idea Splits Up Into A Number Of Equal Motifs And Of Grouping Them; They Rhyme.

In Reading, A Lonely Quiet Concert Is Given To Our Minds; All Our Mental Faculties Will Be Present In This Symphonic Exaltation.