There is only beauty / and it has only one perfect expression / poetry. All the rest is a lie /except for those who live by the body, love, and, that love of the mind, friendship. For me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because its sensual delight falls back deliciously in my soul.
You don't make a poem with ideas, but with words.
The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme.
In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation.
But, O my soul, hear the song of the sailors.
To give a purer sense to the language of the tribe.
The flesh, alas, is sad, and I have read all the books.
The pure work implies the disappearance of the poet as speaker, who hands over to the words.
A throw of the dice will never abolish chance.
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