Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.

On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A fisherman mends a glimmering net.

The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy, Repeats while he binds his tomatoes: No other end of the world will there be, No other end of the world will there be.

It's true that what is morbid is highly valued today, and so you may think that I am only joking or that I've devised just one more means of praising Art with the help of irony.

Poetry is news brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.