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.

We’re young, we’re not monsters, no fools: we’ll conquer happiness for ourselves.

However passionate, sinning, and rebellious the heart hidden in the tomb, the flowers growing over it peep serenely at us with their innocent eyes; they tell us not of eternal peace alone, of that great peace of "indifferent" nature: they tell us, too, of eternal reconciliation and of life without end.

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.

Even nightingales can’t be fed on fairy tales.

Everyone needs help from everyone else.

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.