The public, regardless of its social origin, likes, above all, that which is easily accessible.

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.

The solitude of the poet is the uniqueness of his experience, and the particulaity of his sensitivity and imagination.

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

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.

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.

Solitude is an essential element of poetry.