They say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well, that one's behind me, anyway.

I'm fighting against the bad poet who is prone to using too many words.

Four billion people on this earth, but my imagination is still the same. It's bad with large numbers. It's still taken by particularity. It flits in the dark like a flashlight, illuminating only random faces while all the rest go blindly by, never coming to mind and never really missed. . . . I can't tell you how much I pass over in silence.

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.

No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.

Even a graphomaniac is an extremely complicated person.

Animals don't even try to look any different from what nature intended. They humbly wear their shells, scales, spines, plumes, pelts, and down. ... The conscious impulse to change one's appearance is found only among humans.