Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

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À l'aurore, armés d'une ardente patience, nous entrerons aux splendides Villes. (In the dawn, armed with a burning patience, we shall enter the splendid Cities.)

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I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star ... And I dance.

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I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn

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True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.

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Je est un autre.

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By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

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Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.

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I is another.

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