In the morning I had a look so lost, a face so dead, that perhaps those whom I met did not see me.

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I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn

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

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Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.

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Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.

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À l'aurore, armés d'une ardente patience, nous entrerons aux splendides Villes. (In the dawn, armed with a burning patience, we shall enter the splendid Cities.)

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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.

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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

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