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.
Octavio PazWhat characterizes a poem is its necessary dependence on words as much as its struggle to transcend them.
Octavio PazThe ideal of a single civilization for everyone, implicit in the cult of progress and technique, impoverishes and mutilates us
Octavio Paz