And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.

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

Women talk about love and silent about lovers, men - on the contrary: Speaking of mistresses, but are silent about love.

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

The one that burned the hottest is the first to die.

I opened my veins. Unstoppably life spurts out with no remedy. Now I set out bowls and plates. Every bowl will be shallow. Every plate will be small. And overflowing their rims, into the black earth, to nourish the rushes unstoppably without cure, gushes poetry.

My verses are my diary. My poetry is a poetry of proper names.