She alone dares and wishes to know from within, where she, the outcast, has never ceased to hear the resonance of fore language. She lets the other language speak - the language of 1,000 tongues which knows neither enclosure nor death. To life she refuses nothing. Her language does not contain, it carries; it does not hold back; it makes possible.

I do believe in poetry. I believe that there are creatures endowed with the power to put things together and bring them back to life

Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just any old cannibal, or else wake up destined for devourment.

There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat.

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.

Decisive moment: the one when you will be really alone. And it is perhaps this that makes her hesitate: not the void, but the vastness of the solitude. It's as well if you are frightened of solitude. It's a sign that you have come to the moment of your birth.

We must kill the false woman who is preventing the live one from breathing.