Those
who have suffered understand suffering
And
thereby extend their hand
The
storm that brings harm
Also
makes fertile blessed is the grass
And
herb and the true thorn and light...
As a child, certain skies refined my perspective: all characters shaded my features. Phenomena were in a commotion. Now, the eternal inflexion of the moments and the infinity of mathematics drive me through this world where I undergo every civil honour, respected by strange children and by huge affection. I dream of a war, of right and of might, of unexpected logic.
It is as simple as a musical phrase.
—Arthur Rimbaud—
