New York is something awful, something monstrous. I like to walk the streets, lost, but I recognize that New York is the world's greatest lie. New York is Senegal with machines.

Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verde ramas. Green I love you green. Green Wind. Green branches.

The day hunger disappears, the world will see the greatest spiritual explosion humanity has ever seen.

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

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

The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.

The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death, with all its foreboding, the voice of love and the voice of art.