The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker.

I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen.

Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?

For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.

You came to my life with what you were bringing, made of light and bread and shadow I expected you, and Like this I need you, Like this I love you, and to those who want to hear tomorrow that which I will not tell them, let them read it here, and let them back off today because it is early for these arguments.

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.

What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?