You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.

In you is the illusion of each day. You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. You undermine the horizon with your absence. Eternally in flight like the wave.

You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop.

Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.

I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.

I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.

Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?