It's just not easy to explain to someone else what you don't understand yourself.

Whatever inspiration is, it's born from a continuous "I don't know.

Even boredom should be described with gusto. How many things are happening on a day when nothing happens?

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

All the best have something in common, a regard for reality, an agreement to its primacy over the imagination. Even the richest, most surprising and wild imagination is not as rich, wild and surprising as reality. The task of the poet is to pick singular threads from this dense, colorful fabric.

Carry on, then, if only for the moment that it takes a tiny galaxy to blink!

Well, one is inspired by the whole of life, one's own and somebody else's. You know how sometimes you hear great music, and music is completely untranslatable into words, into any words. A certain tension that is born when one listens to music could aid you in expressing something absolutely different.