Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?

Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist summit, drops of when and how, vague comings and goings: between lips and lips as along a shore of sand and glass the wind passes.

Our love was born outside the walls, in the wind, in the night, in the earth, and that's why the clay and the flower, the mud and the roots know your name.

I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream.

There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song - but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny.

A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.