You are the poet, you walk inside my dreams.

The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.

But the artist persists because he has the will to create, and this is the magic power which can transform and transfigure and transpose and which will ultimately be transmitted to others.

Stations and airports are rehearsals for separations by death.

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer. The dictionary, a new word, a voyage, an encounter, a talk on the street, a book, a phrase learned.

willingness to explore everything is a sign of strength. The weak ones have prejudices. Prejudices are a protection.

gold never comes to the dreamers - except in dreams.