The greatest assassin of life is haste, the desire to reach things before the right time which means overreaching them.

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

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.

I do not cut my life up into days but my days into lives, each day, each hour, an entire life.

If they give you ruled paper, write the other way.

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

The urban man is an uprooted tree, he can put out leaves, flowers and grow fruit but what a nostalgia his leaf, flower, and fruit will always have for mother earth!