In order to write poetry, you must first invent a poet who will write it.

Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. (Walk, there is no path, the path is made by walking.)

Life is the path you beat while you walk it It's the walking that beats the path It is not the path that makes the walk

The unpublished manuscript is like an uncon-fessed sin that festers in the soul, corrupting and contaminating it.

The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.

Wherever learning breeds specialists, the sum of human culture is enhanced thereby. That is the illusion and consolation of specialists.