Love of others is the appreciation of one's self. MAY your egotism be so gigantic
that you comprise mankind in your self-sympathy.
The flux of life is pouring its aesthetic aspect into your eyes, your ears - and you ignore it because you are looking for your canons of beauty in some sort of frame or glass case or tradition.
Poetry is prose bewitched, a music made of visual thoughts, the sound of an idea.
If you want to realize yourselves all your pet illusions must be unmasked
There is no Space or Time
Only intensity,
And tame things
Have no immensity