Life is a rainbow which also includes black.
Poetry is like a bird, it ignores all frontiers.
He watched through a crack inside just pretending to be dead he wanted to fix each pallbearer in his memory . . . it seems to me a telephone was installed in the coffin to someone yet again Stalin is sending his instructions.
Unfortunately justice is the train that's nearly always late.
A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else can only be a footnote.
Why is it that right-wing bastards always stand shoulder to shoulder in solidarity, while liberals fall out among themselves?