However much you feed a wolf, it always looks to the forest. We are all wolves of the dense forest of Eternity.

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

However much you feed a wolf, it always looks to the forest. We are all wolves of the dense forest of Eternity.

For the spell is older than experience. For the tale is older than the record.

One should write only those books from whose absence one suffers. In short: the ones you want on your own desk.

What shall I do, singer and first-born, in a world where the deepest black is grey, and inspiration is kept in a thermos? with all this immensity in a measured world?

What is this gypsy passion for separation, this readiness to rush off when we've just met? My head rests in my hands as I realize, looking into the night that no one turning over our letters has yet understood how completely and how deeply faithless we are, which is to say: how true we are to ourselves.