The Falklands thing was a fight between two bald men over a comb.

The sea is an idiom I cannot decipher.

My books standing there on the shelf do not know that I have written them.

No one is a poet from eight to twelve and from two to six. Whoever is a poet is one always, and continually assaulted by poetry.

I can’t talk about my books. I have written them and tried to forget them. I have written once, and readers have read me many times, no? I try to think of what I wrote, it’s very unhealthy to think about the past, the case of elegies is very sad, as much as the case of complaints.

I believe that in time we will have reached the point where we will deserve to be free of government.

I wonder if I have woven through dreams the sexual strife. I don't think so. But after all, my business is to weave dreams. I suppose I may be allowed to choose the material.