Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is whats known as infinity. – Jean Cocteau
Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of stars and these fields of blue! – Jean Cocteau