But intelligence is often the enemy of poetry, because it limits too much, and it elevates the poet to a sharp-edged throne where he forgets that ants could eat him or that a great arsenic lobster could fall suddenly on his head—things against which the muses that live in monocles and in the lukewarm, lacquered roses of tiny salons are quite helpless.
-Federico García Lorca. From “Play and Theory of Duende.”  (via poetryeater)