“By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.”

“Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.”

“But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.”

“Evening prayerI spend my life sitting, like an angel in a barber's chair,Holding a beer mug with deep-cut designs,My neck and gut both bent, while in the airA weightless veil of pipe smoke hangs.Like steaming dung within an old dovecoteA thousand Dreams within me softly burn:From time to time my heart is like some oakWhose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.And then, when I have swallowed down my DreamsIn thirty, forty mugs of beer, I turnTo satisfy a need I can't ignore,And like the Lord of Hyssop and of MyrrhI piss into the skies, a soaring streamThat consecrates a patch of flowering fern.”

“On the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths,And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat:Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet.I will let the wind bathe my bare head. I will not speak,I will have no thoughts: But infinite love will mount in my soul;And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy,through the countryside - as happy as if I were with a woman. "Sensation”

“It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense,/ That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.”

“I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage.If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!”