I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.

I started earning a living as a poet rather early on.

I cannot imagine any writer who would not fight for his peace and quiet.

Each of us has a very rich nature and can look at things objectively, from a distance, and at the same time can have something more personal to say about them. I am trying to look at the world, and at myself, from many different points of view. I think many poets have this duality.

Generally speaking, life is so rich and full of variety; you have to remember all the time that there is a comical side to everything.

Poets, if they're genuine, must keep repeating "I don't know." Each poem marks an effort to answer this statement, but as soon as the final period hits the page, the poet begins to hesitate, starts to realize that this particular answer was pure makeshift that's absolutely inadequate to boot. So the poets keep on trying, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their oeuvre.

All is mine but nothing owned, nothing owned for memory, and mine only while I look.