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

“The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.”

“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.”

“But, true, I’ve wept too much! Dawns break hearts./ Every moon is brutal, every sun bitter.”

“Je dis qu'il faut être voyant, se faire voyant. Le poète se fait voyant par un long, immense et raisonné dérèglement de tous les sens.”