Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed. The order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish. Everything would break up in chaos. There would be no seasons, no civilization, no thought, no humanity; even life would give way, and the impotent void would reign everywhere.

J'ai cueilli ce brin de bruyèreL'automne est morte souviens-t'enNous ne nous verrons plus sur terreOdeur du temps brin de bruyèreEt souviens-toi que je t'attends

You alone in Europe are not ancient oh Christianity The most modern European is you Pope Pius X And you whom the windows observe shame keeps youFrom entering a church and confessing this morning You read the prospectuses the catalogues the billboards that sing aloud That's the poetry this morning and for the prose there are the newspapersThere are the 25 centime serials full of murder mysteries Portraits of great men and a thousand different headlines("Zone")

Horse [Man you will find here a new representation of the universe at its most poetic and most modern Man man man man man man Give yourself up to this art where the sublime does not exclude charm and brilliancy does not blur the nuance it is now or never the moment to be sensitive to poetry for it dominates all dreadfully Guillaume Apollinaire]

S'en est allée l'amanteAu village voisin malgré la pluieSans son amant s'en est allée l'amantePour danser avec un autre que luiLes femmes mentent mentent

Shall we the shipwrecked drown and dream A further voyage to farther stars

I have drunk you and my thirst survivesBut now I know the flavor of the cosmos