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

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 prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.

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

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

It's a well-known fact: in order to follow doctor's orders, you have to be healthy as a horse.

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