Stupidity is not my strong suit.
What golden hour of life, what glittering moment will ever equal the pain its loss can cause?
From the moment that photography appeared, the descriptive genre began to invade Letters... In verse as in prose the décor and exterior aspects of life took an almost excessive place.
The folly of mistaking oneself for an oracle is built right into us.
The mere notion of photography, when we introduce it into our meditation on the genesis of historical knowledge and its true value, suggests the simple question: Could such and such a fact, as it is narrated here, have been photographed?
The power of verse stems from an indefinable harmony between when it says and what it is.
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