We want to feel that this earth is all ours, like our parents' house when we were children.

I can see now that a concept or even a feeling makes no sense unless out of our substance we spin around it a web of references, of relationships, of values.

When the heart speaks, its language is the same under all latitudes.

Words are impotent to describe certain emotions.

I refuse to imprison our acts in the rigid mould of sentences.

It is always our own self that we find at the end of the journey. The sooner we face that self, the better.

One travels so as to learn once more how to marvel at life in the way a child does. And blessed be the poet, the artist who knows how to keep alive his sense of wonder.