Is it possible to become ecstatic amid destruction, rejuvenate oneself through cruelty? - Arthur Rimbaud

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

Quand le monde sera réduit en un seul bois noir pour nos quatre yeux étonnés, - en une plage pour deux enfants fidèles, - en une maison musicale pour notre claire sympathie, - je vous trouverai.

Magical flowers were humming. The turf slopes cradled *him.* Beasts of a fabulous elegance were circulating. Storm clouds were piling up on the rising sea made of an eternity of hot tears.