I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?

Of everything I have seen, it's you I want to go on seeing: of everything I've touched, it's your flesh I want to go on touching. I love your orange laughter. I am moved by the sight of you sleeping. What am I to do, love, loved one? I don't know how others love or how people loved in the past. I live, watching you, loving you. Being in love is my nature.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces of the daybreak in my breast.

Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?

When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.