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.

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

The true enemy of man is generalization.

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

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

The partition separating life from death is so tenuous. The unbelievable fragility of our organism suggests a vision on a screen: a kind of mist condenses itself into a human shape, lasts a moment and scatters.

The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.