Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of truth.

Learning To believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.

Two attributes of a poet, avidity of the eye and the desire to describe that which he sees.

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.

In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.

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.