“Laughter is the language of the soul.”

Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude.

Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.

Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us.

The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance.

Give me silence, water, hope. Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.

Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.

Love is the mystery of water and a star.

It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.

My feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.

If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life.

While I’m writing, I’m far away; and when I come back, I’ve gone.

The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.

Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said.

Love! Love until the night collapses!

The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

Let us eat, drink, and love for tomorrow we die, would be in fact the language of reason, the morality of life; and who but a fool would part with a reality for a fleeting shadow?

The limits of my language are the limits of my universe.

Don’t use language instrumentally.

The language of the mob was only the language of public opinion cleansed of hypocrisy and restraint.

Language is the house of Being.

Language speaks and not the human.

Language is the house of Being. In its home man dwells.

Man acts as though he were the shaper and master of language, while in fact language remains the master of man.