The desert is so vast that no one can know it all. Men go out into the desert, and they are like ships at sea; no one knows when they will return.

Real lives have no end. Real books have no end.

The desert is so vast that no one can know it all. Men go out into the desert, and they are like ships at sea; no one knows when they will return.

Nights are long when it's cold and you're waiting for a train.

She carried the burn of the sun on her body. It was for all of those wasted, dull years.

If you really want to know, I’d rather not have been born at all. I find life very tiring. The thing’s done now, of course, and I can’t alter it. But there will always be this regret at the back of my mind, I shall never quite be able to get rid of it, and it will spoil everything. The thing to do now is to grow old quickly, to eat up the years as fast as possible, looking neither right nor left.

It is, I believe, the primary charm of poetry to give the lesson of mirage, that is, to show the fragile and vibrant movement of creation, in which the word is in a certain way human quintessence, prayer.