The speed of a runaway horse counts for nothing.
Appreciation of art is a moral erection, otherwise mere dilettantism.
Beauty cannot be recognized with a cursory glance.
My method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away.
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
Whatever the world condemns you for, make it your own. It is yourself.