It's a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
[History is] a tyranny over the souls of the dead - and so the imagination of the living.
Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.
A poem is a small machine made out of words.
Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words, tripped up, bewildered and so defeated-thrown aside-a man hesitates to write down his innermost convictions.