The loss of my sight was a great fillip. If I could go deaf and dumb I think I might pant on to be a hundred.

The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.

Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing that divides the world in two, on the one side the outside, on the other the inside, that can be as thin as foil, I'm neither one side nor the other, I'm in the middle, I'm the partition, I've two surfaces and no thickness, perhaps that's what I feel, myself vibrating, I'm the tympanum, on the one hand the mind, on the other the world, I don't belong to either.

Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.

Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.

If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.

All poetry, as discriminated from the various paradigms of prosody, is prayer.