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

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 history of the creative progress of individual artists shows that, along with their spiritual growth and the increasing complexity of their inner life, their forms of expression become more complex.

From laboratories employing complex apparatus, poetry often emerges into the outside world after a long lapse of time, just as some scientific discoveries become common property only after they have entered the blood stream of the generations.

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.

Tradition remains alive only when we struggle with it.