The philosophy of poetry must acknowledge that the poetic act has no past, at least no recent past, in which its preparation and appearance could be followed.

To go upstairs in the word house is to withdraw step by step; while to go down to the cellar is to dream.

To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful.

Our house is our corner of the world.

A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.

When the image is new, the world is new.

We understand nature by resisting it.