Who sleeps at night? No one is sleeping.
 In the cradle a child is screaming.
 An old man sits over his death, and anyone
 young enough talks to his love, breathes 
into her lips, looks into her eyes.

There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?

Meanings are translatable. Words are untranslatable… More briefly – a word is translatable, its sound is not.

I am a moonbeam, free to go whenever I choose.

An amazing observation: it is precisely for feelings that one needs time, not for thought. ... Feelings, obviously, are more demanding than thought.

Wings are freedom only when they are wide open in flight. On one's back they are a heavy weight.

My favorite mode of communication is in the world beyond: a dream, to see in a dream. My second favorite is correspondence.