I was afraid of looking into my heart...afraid of thinking seriously about anything...I did not want to know whether I was loved, and I did not want to admit to myself that I was not loved.

Belonging to oneself--the whole essence of life lies in that.

Sternly, remorselessly, fate guides each of us; only at the beginning, when we're absorbed in details, in all sorts of nonsense, in ourselves, are we unaware of its harsh hand.

That is what poetry can do. It speaks to us of what does not exist, which is not only better than what exists, but even more like the truth.

I walked in the meadows of green grieving for my life.

Each individual is more or less dimly aware of his significance, is aware that he's something innately superior, something eternal--and lives, is obligated to live, in the moment and for the moment.

Don't force me into saying what I don't want to say, and what I won't say.