People seek escape in myth by any means at their disposal, including drugs, alcohol, meditation, and lies.

Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility... It insists on living its own life.

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.

We are in a period of such individualism that one no longer speaks of disciples; one speaks of thieves.

Stupidity is always astounding, no matter how often one encounters it.

True realism consists in revealing the surprising things which habit keeps covered and prevents us from seeing.