Happiness, for you we walk on a knife edge. To the eyes you are a flickering light, to the feet, thin ice that cracks; and so may no one touch you who loves you.

Mass communication, radio, and especially television, have attempted, not without success, to annihilate every possibility of solitude and reflection.

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

I do not go in search of poetry. I wait for poetry to visit me.

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

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

In reality art is always for everyone and for no one.