“Always be a poet, even in prose.”

“Inspiration comes of working every day.”

“My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.”

“My love, do you recall the object which we saw, That fair, sweet, summer morn! At a turn in the path a foul carcass On a gravel strewn bed, Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman, Burning and dripping with poisons, Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way Its belly, swollen with gases. -...”