I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.

The bare earth, plantless, waterless, is an immense puzzle. In the forests or beside rivers everything speaks to humans. The desert does not speak. I could not comprehend its tongue; its silence...

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

To feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know ... widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.

He who has nothing—it has been said many times—has nothing to lose but his chains.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.

What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?