The pimp has a grin, never a smile.

To achieve harmony in bad taste is the height of elegance.

A great wind swept over the ghetto, carrying away shame, invisibility and four centuries of humiliation. But when the wind dropped people saw it had been only a little breeze, friendly, almost gentle.

Poetry is the break (or rather the meeting at the breaking point) between the visible and the invisible.

Would Hamlet have felt the delicious fascination of suicide if he hadn't had an audience, and lines to speak?

It's the hour when night breaks away from the day, my dove, let me go.

What we need is hatred. From it our ideas are born.