There is By my leaning over the precipice Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion My finding the secret Of loving you Always for the first time.

There is no use being alive if one must work. The event from which each of us is entitled to expect the revelation of his own life’s meaning – that event which I may not yet have found, but on whose path I seek myself – is not earned by work.

We all love conflagrations. When the sky changes color, it is a dead man’s passing.

Surrealism will usher you into death, which is a secret society. It will glove your hand, burying therein the profound M with which the word Memory begins.

Every time you date someone with an issue that you have to work to ignore, you’re settling.

Who am I? If this once I were to rely on a proverb, then perhaps everything would amount to knowing whom I ‘haunt.’

To reduce the imagination to a state of slavery – even though it would mean the elimination of what is commonly called happiness – is to betray all sense of absolute justice within oneself. Imagination alone offers me some intimation of what can be.

May night continue to fall upon the orchestra.

Let us not mince words... the marvelous is always beautiful, anything marvelous is beautiful, in fact only the marvelous is beautiful.

It is hard not to see into the future, faced with today’s blind architecture – a thousand times more stupid and more revolting than that of other ages. How bored we shall be inside!