A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.

I imagine the earth when I am no more: Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born, Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

When I die, I will see the lining of the world. The other side, beyond bird, mountain, sunset.

You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.

I liked beaches, swimming pools, and clinics for there they were the bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. I pitied them and myself, but this will not protect me. The word and the thought are over.

The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth.

I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suffering because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees.