Suffering is by no means a privilege, a sign of nobility, a reminder of God. Suffering is a fierce, bestial thing, commonplace, uncalled for, natural as air. It is intangible; no one can grasp it or fight against it; it dwells in time - is the same thing as time; if it comes in fits and starts, that is only so as to leave the sufferer more defenseless during the moments that follow, those long moments when one relives the last bout of torture and waits for the next.

Dawn's faint breath breathes with your mouth at the ends of empty streets. Gray light your eyes, sweet drops of dawn on dark hills. Your steps and breath like the wind of dawn smother houses. The city shudders, Stones exhale— you are life, an awakening. Star lost in the light of dawn, trill of the breeze, warmth, breath— the night is done. You are light and morning.

Hate is always a clash between our spirit and someone else's body.

Will power is only the tensile strength of one's own disposition. One cannot increase it by a single ounce.

A work settles nothing, just as the labor of a whole generation settles nothing. Sons, and the morrow, always start afresh.

Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will.

When writing poetry, it is not that produces a bright idea, but the bright idea that kindles the fire of.