Poetry is a subject as precise as geometry.

There are some men whose only mission among others is to act as intermediaries; one crosses them like bridges and keeps going.

As you get older, the heart shed its leaves like a tree. You cannot hold out against certain winds. Each day tears away a few more leaves; and then there are the storms that break off several branches at one go. And while nature’s greenery grows back again in the spring, that of the heart never grows back.

Of all lies, art is the least untrue.

Our ignorance of history causes us to slander our own times.

Do not imagine you can exorcise what oppresses you in life by giving vent to it in art.

Love, to her, was something hat comes suddenly, like a blinding flash of lightening - a heaven-sent storm hurled into life, uprooting it, sweeping every will before it like a leaf, engulfing all feelings.