We Know That The Nature Of Genius

Your Heart Like A Hawk-mouth In The Sun, Your Heart Like A Ship On An Atoll, Your Heart Like A Compass Needle Driven Mad By A Little Piece Of Lead, Like Washing Drying In The Wind, Like A Whining Of Horses, Like Seed Thrown To The Birds, Like An Evening Paper One Has Finished Reading! Your Heart Is A Charade That The Whole World Has Guessed.

The Vice Named Surrealism Is The Immoderate And Impassioned Use Of The Stupefacient Image Or Rather Of The Uncontrolled Provocation Of The Image For Its Own Sake And For The Element Of Unpredictable Perturbation And Of Metamorphosis Which It Introduces Into The Domain Of Representation; For Each Image On Each Occasion Forces You To Revise The Entire Universe.

The Authors Of Book Reviews Would Consider Themselves Dishonored Were They To Mention, As They Should, The Subject Of The Book.

There Are Strange Flowers Of Reason To Match Each Error Of The Senses.

That You Are Not Already Golden Word In Our Streets Already Memories Your Love Fades Already Whether You Are No Longer To Have Perished.