“La chair, hélas, est triste, et j'ai lu tous les livres.”

“Si tu veux nous nous aimeronsAvec tes lèvres sans le direCette rose ne l'interrompsQu'à verser un silence pireJamais de chants ne lancent promptsLe scintillement du sourireSi tu veux nous nous aimeronsAvec tes lèvres sans le dire Muet muet entre les rondsSylphe dans la pourpre d'empireUn baiser flambant se déchireJusqu'aux pointe des aileronsSi tu veux nous nous aimerons.”

“The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.”

“A roll of the dice will never abolish chance.”

“A soul trembling to sit by a hearth so bright,To exist again, it’s enough if I borrow from Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.”

“I should point out, creating one's own style, as much as is required to illustrate one of the aspects, the golden seam of language, involves beginning again at once, in a different manner, adopting the guise of a pupil when one risked becoming pedantic - thus by a shrugging of one's shoulders, disconcerting some with their genuflecting stance, and immortalizing oneself in multiple, impersonal, or even anonymous forms in response to the gesture of arms raised in stupefaction.”

“Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book.”