There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.

And that's why i have to go back to so many places there to find myself and constantly examine myself with no witness but the moon and then whistle with joy, ambling over rocks and clods of earth, with no task but to live, with no family but the road.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul You live again in time, slender and silent.

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

So the freshness lives on in a lemon, in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, the proportions, arcane and acerb.

Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.