Poetry, in the past, was the center of our society, but with modernity it has retreated to the outskirts. I think the exile of poetry is also the exile of the best of humankind.

Social criticism begins with grammar and the re-establishing of meanings.

Solitude lies at the lowest depth of the human condition. Man is the only being who feels himself to be alone and the only one who is searching for the Other.

A glass pitcher, a wicker basket, a tunic of coarse cloth. Their beauty is inseparable from their function. Handicrafts belong to a world existing before the separation of the useful and the beautiful.

Poet: gardener of epitaphs.

Love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual.

Every moment is nothing without end.