I know there is no straight road No straight road in this world Only a giant labyrinth Of intersecting crossroads

The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it.) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on his little finger In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. (The captive voice, far away, put on a cricket's clothes.) Translated by William S. Merwin

...I am the immense shadow of my tears

Theatre is poetry that rises from the book and becomes human enough to talk and shout, weep and despair

As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.

Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.

I put my head out of my window and see how much the wind’s knife wants to slice it off. On this unseen guillotine, I’ve placed the eyeless head of all my desires.