We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.

I am not sure of anything, I know nothing . . . can you imagine that I don't even know the date of my own death?

For me, beauty is a physical sensation, something we feel with our whole body. It is not the result of judgement. We do not arrive at it by way of rules. We either feel beauty or we don't.

The mathematical sciences wield their particular language made of digits and signs, no less subtle than any other.

A man sets himself the task of portraying the world. Shortly before he dies he discovers that this patient labyrinth of lines is a drawing of his own face.

Imprecision is tolerable and verisimilar in literature, because we always tend towards it in life.

I suppose every poet has his own private mythology. Maybe he's unaware of it. People tell me that I have evolved a private mythology of tigers, of blades, of labyrinths, and I"m unaware of the fact this is so. My readers are finding it all the time. But I think perhaps that is the duty of poet.