A Note Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, catch your breath on the sand, rise on wings; to be a dog, or stroke its warm fur; to tell pain from everything it's not; to squeeze inside events, dawdle in views, to seek the least of all possible mistakes. An extraordinary chance to remember for a moment a conversation held with the lamp switched off; and if only once to stumble upon a stone, end up soaked in one downpour or another, mislay your keys in the grass; and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes; and to keep on not knowing something important.

I have sympathy for young people, for their growing pains, but I balk when these growing pains are pushed into the foreground, when you make these young people the only vehicles of lifes wisdom.

After every war someone has to tidy up.

Poetic talent doesn't operate in a vacuum. There is a spirit of Polish poetry.

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.

Memory at last has what I sought.

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