A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.

It was a love of perpetual flight.

Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood.

The first of the line is tied to a tree and the last is being eaten by the ants .

Taught him the only thing he had to learn about love: that nobody teaches life anything.

To oppression, plundering and abandonment, we respond with life.

He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stonecutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.