Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends

Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one's own pleasure is shared.

Literature is a defense against the attacks of life. It says to life: You can't deceive me. I know your habits, foresee and enjoy watching all your reactions, and steal your secret by involving you in cunning obstructions that halt your normal flow.

You don't remember days, you remember moments.

Idleness makes hours pass slowly and years swiftly. Activity makes the hours short and the years long.

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.