How can we live without the unknown before us?

To be a poet is to have an appetite for a certain anxiety which, when tasted among the swirling sum of things existent or forfeit, causes, as the taste dies, joy.

Imagination consists in expelling from reality several incomplete persons, and then using the magic and subversive powers of desire to bring them back in the form of one entirely satisfying presence.

What comes into the world to disturb nothing merits neither attention nor patience

Man is able to do what he is unable to imagine. His head trails a wake through the galaxy of the absurd.

A poem is the realization of love. . . .

What can be seductive about the eternal nothing is that the finest day is indifferently this one or any other like it.