When I first met him, he did not care if a friend did not fit into his world, because at that time his world had not been born yet.

I am like a snake who has already bitten. I retreat from a direct battle while knowing the slow effect of the poison.

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.

I am apparently gentle, unstable, and full of pretenses. I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself. I wrote, lived, loved like Don Quixote, and on the day of my death I will say: ‘Excuse me, it was all a dream,’ and by that time I may have found one who will say: ‘Not at all, it was true, absolutely true.’

You marry the day you realize the human defects of your love.

Writers do not live one life, they live two. There is the living and then there is the writing. There is the second tasting, the delayed reaction.

atrophy of feeling creates criminals.