Here life goes on, even and monotonous on the surface, full of lightning, of summits and of despair, in its depths. We have now arrived at a stage in life so rich in new perceptions that cannot be transmitted to those at another stage - one feels at the same time full of so much gentleness and so much despair - the enigma of this life grows, grows, drowns one and crushes one, then all of a sudden in a supreme moment of light one becomes aware of the sacred.

The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.

each new poem is partly propelled by the formal energies of all the poems that have preceded it in the history of literature.

One of the springs of poetry is joy.

I tell the gods are still alive / And they are not consoling.

The trouble is, old age is not interesting until one gets there. It's a foreign country with an unknown language to the young and even to the middle-aged.

There is a proper balance between not asking enough of oneself and asking or expecting too much.