Man's memory shapes Its own Eden within

I hardly know what I'm going to write - an article, a story, a poem in free verse - or in some regular form. I only know that when I have the first sentence. And when the first sentence makes a kind of pattern, then I find out the kind of rhythm I'm looking for.

The mind was dreaming. The world was its dream.

Art is very mysterious. I wonder if you can really do any damage to art. I think that when we're writing, something comes through or should come through, in spite of our theories. So theories are not really important.

Every man should be capable of all ideas.

In Spanish it is very difficult to make things flow, because words are over-long. But in English, you have light words.

Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time.