Poets, like the blind, can see in the dark.

When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation.

The heresies we should fear are those which can be confused with orthodoxy.

A writer - and, I believe, generally all persons - must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.

Once I am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing; my grave will be the fathomless air; my body will sink endlessly and decay and dissolve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite.

Art always opts for the individual, the concrete; art is not Platonic.

His life, measured in space and time, will take up a mere few lines, which my ignorance will abbreviate further.