From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.

my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.

La heradera del dia destruida. (The heiress of the destroyed day.)

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

The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.

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

The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.