I have come too late into a world too old.

The most despairing songs are the most beautiful, and I know some immortal ones that are pure tears.

The blood of my motherland waters a magic plant that cures all ills. That plant is art, and sometimes art needs corruption as a kind of fertilizer

Look at the sun! It’s dry, it’s dead, it needs a drink, it wants blood! And I’ll give it blood!

Know that there is often hidden in us a dormant poet, always young and alive.

A happy memory is perhaps on this earth truer than happiness itself.

I cannot help it - in spite of myself, infinity torments me.