Plus douce qu'aux enfants la chair des pommes sures, L'eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin. - Arthur Rimbaud

The wolf howled under the leaves
And spit out the prettiest feathers
Of his meal of fowl:
Like him I consume myself.

لا أحب النساء. الحب ينبغي إعادة ابتكاره، ذلك شيء معلوم. هن لم يعدن قادرات إلا على اشتهاء عَيشٍ مُؤمّن. وما إن ينلنه حتى يضعن جانبا القلب والجمال: فلا يبقى سوى ازدراء بارد، قوت الزواج في أيامنا

Oh! science! It has reconsidered everything. For thebody and the soul − the viaticum − we now have medicineand philosophy, old wives’ remedies and rearranged popular songs. And the diversions of princes and games they forbade! Geography, cosmography, mechanics, chemistry . . . Science, the new nobility! Progress. The world marches on! Why would it cease to turn? It is the vision of numbers. We are moving towards Spirit. What I say is certain, oracular. I understand, but not knowing how to explain myself without using pagan words, I prefer to hold my tongue.