There are two languages: one as things seem to us and the other of knowledge.

I wanted to be calm, like a mound with all its cities destroyed, and tranquil, like a full cemetery.

It was not an adventure; it was my life.

Even if a poet writes about sitting in a glass house drinking tea, it reflects politics.

Tonight I think again of many days that are sacrificed for one night of love. Of the waste and the fruit of the waste, of plenty and of fire. And how painlessly-time.

I think the end is endless. It's either a big black hole or a big white light or both together. But it's totally meaningless, because even if someone would explain it, I wouldn't understand it.

I’ve never been in those places where I’ve never been and never will be, I have no share in the infinity of light-years and dark-years, but the darkness is mine, and the light, and my time is my own.