Is there really nothing, nothing left of me?

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

A man is involved in life, leaves his impress on it, and outside of that there is nothing.

A writer who takes political, social or literary positions must act only with the means that are his. These means are the written words.

Every age has its own poetry; in every age the circumstances of history choose a nation, a race, a class to take up the torch by creating situations that can be expressed or transcended only through poetry.

In a country lacking leaders, in Africa, for instance, how could a native educated in Europe refuse to become a professor, even at the price of his literary vocation?

I have changed as everyone changes: within a permanency.