No art can develop until it penetrates deeply into the life of the people.

Each generation must go further than the last or what's the use in it?

I am luminous with age.

An abyss seems to have opened between the intellectual cosmopolites of culture and the people, hungry for word and meaning.

Suddenly many movements are going on within me, many things are happening, there is an almost unbearable sense of sprouting, of bursting encasements, of moving kernels, expanding flesh.

The body repeats the landscape. They are the source of each other and create each other.

Literature must spring from the deep and submerged humus of our life.