I sat at the foot of a huge tree, a statue of the night, and tried to make an inventory of all I had seen, heard, smelled, and felt: dizziness, horror, stupor, astonishment, joy, enthusiasm, nausea, inescapable attraction. What had attracted me? It was difficult to say: Human kind cannot bear much reality.

To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see it with our ears.

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

My body, plowed by your body, will turn into a field where one is sown and a hundred reaped.

To love is to battle, to open doors, to cease to be a ghost with a number forever in chains, forever condemned by a faceless master; the world changes if two look at each other and see.

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

Literature is the expression of a feeling of deprivation, a recourse against a sense of something missing. But the contrary is also true: language is what makes us human. It is a recourse against the meaningless noise and silence of nature and history.