Sharp nostalgia, infinite and terrible, for what I already possess.

To live is nothing more than to come here to die, to be what we were before being born, but with apprenticeship, experience, knowledge of cause, and perhaps with will.

Literature is a state of culture, poetry is a state of grace, before and after culture.

I unpetalled you, like a rose, to see your soul, and I didn't see it. But everything around -horizons of land and of seas-, everything, out to the infinite, was filled with a fragrance, enormous and alive.

The background reveals the true being and state of being of the man or thing. If I do not possess the background, I make the man transparent, the thing transparent.

My only two weapons: time and silence.

…Perhaps this momentary life of ours is only the light that divides our infinite origin from our infinite end.