I'd have to be really quick to describe clouds - a split second's enough for them to start being something else.
Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there's no such thing. Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses.
You can find the entire cosmos lurking in its least remarkable objects.
I started earning a living as a poet rather early on.
In the language of poetry, where every word is weighed, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all, not a single existence, not anyone's existence in this world.