I sing your restless longing for the statue, your fear of the feelings that await you in the street. I sing the small sea siren who sings to you, riding her bicycle of corals and conches. But above all I sing a common thought that joins us in the dark and golden hours. The light that blinds our eyes is not art. Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.

Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.

Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

...I am the immense shadow of my tears

A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.

The only things that the United States has given to the world are skyscrapers, jazz, and cocktails. That is all. And in Cuba, in our America, they make much better cocktails.