What comes into the world to disturb nothing merits neither attention nor patience
Trust firmly in your luck, cling to your happiness, and dare to take risks.
A poem is the realization of love. . . .
Man is able to do what he is unable to imagine. His head trails a wake through the galaxy of the absurd.
How did writing come to me? Like bird’s down on my windowpane, in winter. Just then there rose in the heart a struggle of firebrands, which has, still now, not ended.
A poet should leave traces of his passage, not proofs. Traces alone engender dreams.