A yak is a prehistoric cabbage; of that, we can be sure.

Poetry is mostly hunches.

The term ignorant is indeed perhaps an overstatement, implying as it does that something is known somewhere, whereas in reality we are not even sure of this: we in fact cannot aver with any degree of certainty that we are ignorant. Yet this is not so bad; we have at any rate kept our open-mindedness -- that, at least, we may be sure that we have -- and are not in any danger, or so it seems, of freezing into the pious attitudes of those true spiritual bigots whose faces are turned toward eternity and who therefore can see nothing.

I lost my ridiculous accent without acquiring another

Once you've lived in France, you don't want to live anywhere else, including France.

The soul establishes itself. But how far can it swim out through the eyes And still return safely to its nest?

I write with experiences in mind, but I don't write about them, I write out of them.