Aime Cesaire

Reason, I sacrifice you to the evening breeze.

It is no use painting the foot of the tree white, the strength of the bark cries out from beneath the paint.

Poetic knowledge is born in the great silence of scientific knowledge.

I have a different idea of a universal. It is of a universal rich with all that is particular, rich with all the particulars there are, the deepening of each particular, the coexistence of them all.