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

The art of living is the art of knowing how to believe lies. The fearful thing about it is that, not knowing what truth may be, we can still recognize lies.

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things: air, sleep, dreams, sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.

Give me the ready hand rather than the ready tongue.

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

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.

No one ever lacks a good reason for suicide.