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

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.

Slowly poetry becomes visual because it paints images, but it is also musical: it unites two arts into one.

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

For my part, if I consider poetry as an object, I maintain that it is born of the necessity of adding a vocal sound (speech) to the hammering of the first tribal music.

Evidently the arts, all the visual arts, are becoming more democratic in the worst sense of the word.

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