How red the rose that is the soldier

I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.

All poetry is experimental poetry.

Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.

The people in the world, and the objects in it, and the world as a whole, are not absolute things, but on the contrary, are the phenomena of perception... If we were all alike: if we were millions of people saying do, re, mi, in unison, One poet would be enough... But we are not alone, and everything needs expounding all the time because, as people live and die, each one perceiving life and death for himself, and mostly by and in himself, there develops a curiosity about the perceptions of others. This is what makes it possible to go on saying new things about old things.

Reality is not what it is. It consists of the many realities which it can be made into.

The imperfect is our paradise.