There Are No Ordinary Cats.

Voluptuaries, Consumed By Their Senses, Always Begin By Flinging Themselves With A Great Display Of Frenzy Into An Abyss. But They Survive, They Come To The Surface Again. And They Develop A Routine Of The Abyss: It's Four O Clock. At Five I Have My Abyss.

No Temptation Can Ever Be Measured By The Value Of Its Object.

Never Touch A Butterfly's Wing With Your Finger.

One Keeps Forgetting Old Age Up To The Very Brink Of The Grave.

To A Poet, Silence Is An Acceptable Response, Even A Flattering One.