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

Holidays - Have no pity.

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.

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

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

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

There is poetry even in prose, in all the great prose which is not merely utilitarian or didactic: there exist poets who write in prose or at least in more or less apparent prose; millions of poets write verses which have no connection with poetry.