Poetry, in the entire course of its development, has always been trying to capture meanings and problems which are still obscure and dormant. Poetry tries to awaken them with a kiss, wherever they may be: in the air, in things, in human beings.

The demand that poetry be immediately understandable to everyone is truly absurd.

Solitude is an essential element of poetry.

Environment grinds us, forces us to adjust, and--consciously or not--kills our most precious possession: that something which enables us to speak with ourselves and with God.

It is a grave error for historians of literature to interpret the national spirit of the age in an oversimplified manner, ignoring the complexity of various cultural and life processes. Instead of using their imagination, they try to read the future by observing the hands of a clock which is still busy measuring the past.

The spirit of the age is not synonymous with what the public likes.

In the end, time is the best ally of poets. It clarifies their works and makes them accessible to an ever widening circle of readers.