A thousand Dreams within me softly burn

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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

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I is another.

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I'm intact, and I don't give a damn.

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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

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By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

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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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Je est un autre.

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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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