Artists are the monks of the bourgeois state.

Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will. All the rest - thought, action - is just a pastime, mental or physical. What counts then, is to come to grips with reality. The rest can go.

When we read, we are not looking for new ideas, but to see our own thoughts given the seal of confirmation on the printed page. The words that strike us are those that awake an echo in a zone we have already made our own—the place where we live—and the vibration enables us to find fresh starting points within ourselves

From someone who doesn't want to share your destiny, you should neither accept a cigarette

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

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

Writing is a fine thing, because it combines the two pleasures of talking to yourself and talking to a crowd.