We talk so abstractly about poetry because all of us are usually bad poets.
Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them.
The spirit of the poet craves spectators... even if only buffaloes.
Poets and writers who are in love with the superlative all want to do more than they can.
The poet presents his thoughts festively, on the carriage of rhythm: usually because they could not walk.
The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality.