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

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

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

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?

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

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

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