The Poet Makes Himself A

I Believe That I Am In Hell, Therefore I Am There.

Genius Is The Recovery Of Childhood At Will.

A Man Who Wants To Mutilate Himself Is Certainly Damned, Isn't He?

Then You'll Feel Your Cheek Scratched... A Little Kiss, Like A Crazy Spider, Will Run Round Your Neck... And You'll Say To Me : "find It !" Bending Your Head - And We'll Take A Long Time To Find That Creature - Which Travels A Lot.

It Was The Voice Of Mad Seas, Roaring Immense,/ That Shattered Your Infant Breast, Too Soft, Too Human.