I am a tarsier and a tarsier's son, the grandson and great-grandson of tarsiers, a tiny creature, made up of two pupils and whatever simply could not be left out.

Any knowledge that doesn't lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.

But they know about us, they know, the four corners, and the chairs nearby us. Discerning shadows also know, and even the table keeps quiet.

I cannot speak for more than an hour exclusively about poetry. At that point, life itself takes over again.

Today when two people decide upon a thoughtless and precipitate abbreviation of the physical space between them, they think, at least at that moment, that they're mutually attracted and drawn together by an overwhelming force.

You can find the entire cosmos lurking in its least remarkable objects.

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.