I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees

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

And here am I, budding among the ruins with only sorrow to bite on, as if weeping were a seed and I the earth's only furrow.

Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.

Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.

Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.

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.