"Verse, I believe, was waiting out of respect until the giant who stamped it with his blacksmith’s hand steady and ever firmer had passed on, so that it could fracture. All language, adjusted to metre, concealing there its vital caesurae, escapes, according to a free disjunction into a thousand simple elements; and, I would point out, not without similarity to the multiple cries of an orchestration, that remains verbal."
~ Stéphane Mallarmé
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