Art is an invention of aesthetics, which in turn is an invention of philosophers... What we call art is a game.

Distraction is our habitual state. Not the distraction of the person who withdraws from the world in order to shut himself up in the secret and ever-changing land of his fantasy, but the distraction of the person who is always outside himself, lost in the trivial, senseless, turmoil of everyday life.

Poets have the gift to speak for others, Vasko Popa had the very rare quality of hearing the others.

Enormous and solid but swaying, beaten by the wind but chained, murmur of a million leaves against my window. Riot of trees, surge of dark green sounds. The grove, suddenly still, is a web of fronds and branches.

Light is time thinking about itself.

Beyond happiness or unhappiness, though it is both things, love is intensity; it does not give us eternity but life, that second in which the doors of time and space open just a crack: here is there and now is always.

Wisdom lies neither in fixity nor in change, but in the dialectic between the two.