Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am.
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.
True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
In the morning I had a look so lost, a face so dead, that perhaps those whom I met did not see me.
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.