My friends tell me that I am an intruder, that I don't really write when I attempt poetry. But those of my friends who write in prose say that I'm no writer when I attempt prose. So really I don't know what to do, I'm in a quandary.

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.

It also occurred to him that throughout history, humankind has told two stories: the story of a lost ship sailing the Mediterranean seas in quest of a beloved isle, and the story of a god who allows himself to be crucified on Golgotha.

Reality is partial to symmetry and slight anachronisms

I saw a sunset in Queretaro that seemed to reflect the color of a rose in Bengal.

The future has no other reality than as present hope, and the past is no more than present memory.

Loneliness does not worry me; life is difficult enough, putting up with yourself and with your own habits.