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.

Man cannot produce a single work without the assistance of the slow, assiduous, corrosive worm of thought.

The poet does not know - often he will never know - whom he really writes for.

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.

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

The most dangerous aspect of present-day life is the dissolution of the feeling of individual responsibility. Mass solitude has done away with any difference between the internal and the external, between the intellectual and the physical.