If Society Abolishes Poetry It

It Is Always Difficult To Give Oneself Up; Few Persons Anywhere Ever Succeed In Doing So, And Even Fewer Transcend The Possessive Stage To Know Love For What It Actually Is: A Perpetual Discovery, And Immersion In The Waters Of Reality, An Unending Re-creation.

What Is Art? A Violet. Is That All? An Artistic Style Is A Living Entity, A Continuous Process Of Invention. It Can Never Be Imposed From Without; Born Of The Profoundest Tendencies Within A Society, Its Direction Is To A Certain Extent Unpredictable, In Much The Same Way As The Eventual Configuration Of A Tree's Branches.

To Love Is To Undress Our Names.

Because Two Bodies, Naked And Entwined, Leap Over Time, They Are Invulnerable, Nothing Can Touch Them, They Return To The Source. There Is No You, No I, No Tomorrow, No Yesterday, No Names, The Truth Of Two In A Single Body, A Single Soul, Oh Total Being.

For Every Language That Becomes Extinct, An Image Of Man Disappears.