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— Arthur Rimbaud"The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences."
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That impulse I think is a form of love. Poetry is something that comes to you, rather than your having to work out its form beforehand.
— Judith Wright
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Hatred is a disguised form of love. You can only hate someone whom you really wish to love, because if you were totally indifferent to that person, you could not even get up enough energy to hate him.
— Sri Chinmoy
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