Time spent with poets is never wasted.
It is clear that we do not exactly choose our poems; our poems choose us.
It is the place of renewal and of safety, where for a little while there will be no harm or attack and, while every sense is nourished, the soul rests.
What can I have that I still want?
Go rich in poverty. Go rich in poetry. This nothingness is plentitude.
I love giving flowers. It is so deliciously unlasting and romantic.