The fact that we are living does not mean we are not sick.

In poetic thought, the role of the subconscious is played by euphony.

For darkness restores what light cannot repair.

What I like about cities is that everything is king size, the beauty and the ugliness.

By failing to read or listen to poets, society dooms itself to inferior modes of articulation, those of the politician, the salesman, or the charlatan. In other words, it forfeits its own evolutionary potential. For what distinguishes us from the rest of the animal kingdom is precisely the gift of speech. Poetry is not a form of entertainment and in a certain sense not even a form of art, but it is our anthropological, genetic goal. Our evolutionary, linguistic beacon.

Twentieth-century Russian literature has produced nothing special except perhaps one novel and two stories by Andrei Platonov, who ended his days sweeping streets.

I'm not trying to be ridiculous or funny, but it was rather pleasant to find yourself in isolation, in solitary.