The Soul Unfolds Itself, Like A Lotus

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

To Know The Pain Of Too Much Tenderness

Coming Generations Will Learn Equality From Poverty, And Love From Woes.

For The First Time The Sun Kissed My Own Naked Face And My Soul Was Inflamed With Love For The Sun, And I Wanted My Masks No More. And As If In A Trance I Cried, "blessed, Blessed Are The Thieves Who Stole My Masks." Thus I Became A Madman.

You Shall Be Held Down By The Chains Of Your Own Judgment.