The World Was Made In Order To

The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I Have Read All The Books.

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

You Don't Make A Poem With Ideas, But With Words.

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

The Reproach That Superficial People Formulate Against Manet, That Whereas Once He Painted Ugliness, Now He Paints Vulgarity, Falls Harmlessly To The Ground, When We Recognize The Fact That He Paints The Truth.