“One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.”

It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.

What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.

I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.

The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.

As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.

I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?

But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.

Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.

I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.

I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.

Blessed be the Lord for the beauty of summer and spring, for the air, the water, the verdure, and the song of birds.

I define nothing. Not beauty, not patriotism. I take each thing as it is, without prior rules about what it should be.

Beautiful flower, grow untamed.

You carry your imperfections so beautifully.

Science moves with the spirit of an adventure characterized both by youthful arrogance and by the belief that the truth, once found, would be simple as well as pretty.

An artist’s concern is to capture beauty wherever he finds it.

She was impossibly beautiful. If she didn’t exist, she’d have to be invented.

The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to seekers after it.