What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.
What have I done, dear God, to deserve this perpetual feeling that I'm almost ready to begin something really new?
The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.
The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.
The damage of teaching: the constant contact with the undeveloped.