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.

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

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

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

Many of today's verses are prose and bad prose.

Against the dark background of this contemporary civilization of well-being, even the arts tend to mingle, to lose their identity.