“La gente aguantaba que les mordiera un lobo pero lo que verdaderamente les sacaba de quicio era que les mordiera una oveja.”
Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.
“The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside.”
“And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind and O! then the Roman candle burst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried O!O! in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they shed and ah! they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lively! O so soft, sweet, soft!”