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

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.

However, poetry does not live solely in books or in school anthologies.

Today not even a universal fire could make the torrential poetic production of our time disappear. But it is exactly a question of production, that is, of hand-made products which are subject to the laws of taste and fashion.

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

The real history, the one that counts and is not to be found in books, is precisely this one, the one made by simple men; and it is the only one that rules the world.

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