Everything that is sacred and that wishes to remain so must envelop itself in mystery.
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.
I have made a long enough descent into the void to speak with certainty. There is nothing but beauty--and beauty has only one perfect expression, Poetry. All the rest is a lie.
The world was made in order to result in a beautiful book.
A throw of the dice will never abolish chance.