The poet doesnt invent. He listens. – Jean Cocteau
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. – Jean Cocteau
The poet doesnt invent. He listens. – Jean Cocteau
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. – Jean Cocteau
The flowery Path of Poetry but ill accords with the thorny Mazes of the Law; in the one I have wandered with rapture from Infancy, and I have endeavoured to grace the other with a simple but lasting Ornament—Integrity of Heart. – Charles Snart, “Dedication, to Robert Lowe, Esq. Oxton,” 1807 January 1st, Newar