It has often been observed that the repercussion of poetic language on prose language can be considered a decisive cut of a whip.

I have always knocked at the door of that wonderful and terrible enigma which is life.

Too many lives are needed to make just one.

Narrative art, the novel, from Murasaki to Proust, has produced great works of poetry.

Art is the production of objects for consumption, to be used and discarded while waiting for a new world in which man will have succeeded in freeing himself of everything, even of his own consciousness.

This proves that great lyric poetry can die, be reborn, die again, but will always remain one of the most outstanding creations of the human soul.

Poetry is the art which is technically within the grasp of everyone: a piece of paper and a pencil and one is ready.