Once I lived in time as a fish in water, breathing it, drinking it, sustained by it. Now I kill time and time kills me.

One thought alone preoccupies the submerged mind of Empire: how not to end, how not to die, how to prolong its era. By day it pursues its enemies. It is cunning and ruthless, it sends its bloodhounds everywhere. By night it feeds on images of disaster: the sack of cities, the rape of populations, pyramids of bones, acres of desolation.

The idea of writer as sage is pretty much dead today. I would certainly feel very uncomfortable in the role.

Strictly speaking, my interest is not in legal rights for animals but in a change of heart towards animals.

The masters of information have forgotten about poetry, where words may have a meaning quite different from what the lexicon says, where the metaphoric spark is always one jump ahead of the decoding function, where another, unforeseen reading is always possible.

We must cultivate, all of us, a certain ignorance, a certain blindness, or society will not be tolerable.

(I)f we are going to be kind, let it be out of simple generosity, not because we fear guilt or retribution.