Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.

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.

And I, a materialist who does not believe in the starry heaven promised to a human being, for this dog and for every dog I believe in heaven, yes, I believe in a heaven that I will never enter, but he waits for me wagging his big fan of a tail so I, soon to arrive, will feel welcomed.

It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.

Love is the mystery of water and a star.

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness

But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.