Women talk about love and silent about lovers, men - on the contrary: Speaking of mistresses, but are silent about love.

Meanings are translatable. Words are untranslatable… More briefly – a word is translatable, its sound is not.

Who sleeps at night? No one is sleeping.
 In the cradle a child is screaming.
 An old man sits over his death, and anyone
 young enough talks to his love, breathes 
into her lips, looks into her eyes.

And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.

An amazing observation: it is precisely for feelings that one needs time, not for thought. ... Feelings, obviously, are more demanding than thought.

My favorite mode of communication is in the world beyond: a dream, to see in a dream. My second favorite is correspondence.

My verses are my diary. My poetry is a poetry of proper names.