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

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.

We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.

When I curse Fate, it's not me, but the earth in me.

Every poet depends upon generations who wrote in his native tongue; he inherits styles and forms elaborated by those who lived before him. At the same time, though, he feels that those old means of expression are not adequate to his own experience.

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

Forget the suffering You caused others. Forget the suffering Others caused you. The waters run and run, Springs sparkle and are done, You walk the earth you are forgetting.