Would you care to know the real tragedy of poetry? It is that poetry is, nevertheless, a privilege of aristocratic birth, and that all privileges lead directly to the guillotine.
“I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing. I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition. Something – the eternal ‘what’s the use?’ – sets its bronze barrier across every avenue that I open up in the realm of hypothesis.”
Gustave Flaubert | Flaubert in Egypt