I was lucky enough to see with my own eyes the recent stock-market crash, where they lost several million dollars, a rabble of dead money that went sliding off into the sea.

Woodcutter. Cut my shadow from me. Free me from the torment of being without fruit. Why was I born among mirrors? Day goes round and round me. The night copies me in all its stars. I want to live without my reflection. And then let me dream that ants and thistledown are my leaves and my parrots.

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.

If I told you the whole story it would never end...What's happened to me has happened to a thousand woman.

...I am the immense shadow of my tears

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

I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.