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

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

No one has ever stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?

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

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

My desk, most loyal friend thank you. You've been with me on every road I've taken. My scar and my protection.

What is the main thing in love? to know and to hide. To know about the one you love and to hide that you love. At times the hiding (shame) overpowers the knowing (passion). The passion for the hidden - the passion for the revealed.