“Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed. The order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish. Everything would break up in chaos. There would be no seasons, no civilization, no thought, no humanity; even life would give way, and the impotent void would reign everywhere.”

“Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.”

“Horse [Man you will find here a new representation of the universe at its most poetic and most modern Man man man man man man Give yourself up to this art where the sublime does not exclude charm and brilliancy does not blur the nuance it is now or never the moment to be sensitive to poetry for it dominates all dreadfully Guillaume Apollinaire]”

“Now you are walking in Paris all alone in the crowd As herds of bellowing buses drive by Love's anguish tightens your throat As if you were never to be loved again If you lived in the old days you would enter a monasteryYou are ashamed when you discover yourself reciting a prayerYou make fun of yourself and like the fire of Hell your laughter crackles The sparks of your laugh gild the depths of your lifeIt's a painting hanging in a dark museumAnd sometimes you go and look at it close up”

“When man resolved to imitate walking, he invented the wheel, which does not look like a leg. In doing this, he was practicing surrealism without knowing it.”

“In years past, to keep their men close, women would wear a ring and bear children.It doesn't work like that today.Nowadays, how do we hold on to those we love?I've no idea.”

“Automn ill and adoredYou die when the hurricane blows in the roseriesWhen it has snowedIn the orchard treesPoor automn Dead in whiteness and richesOf snow and ripe fruitsDeep in the skyThe sparrow hawks cryOver the sprites with green hair dwarfsWho've never been lovedInthe far tree-linesThe stags are groaningAnd how I love O season how I love your rumblingThe falling fruits that no one gathersThe wind in the forest that are tumblingAll their tears in automn leaf by leaf The leaves You press A crowd That flows The life That goes”