Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.

If you know what you are going to write when you're writing a poem, it's going to be average.

The classics can console. But not enough.

Slowly my body grows a single sound, slowly I become a bell, an oval, disembodied vowel, I grow, an owl, an aureole, white fire poesia "Metamorfosi, I. Luna

Time is the metre, memory the only plot.

For every poet it is always morning in the world; history a forgotten, insomniac night. The fate of poetry is to fall in love with the world in spite of history.

A culture, we all know, is made by its cities.