“Such is the role of poetry. It unveils, in the strict sense of the word. It lays bare, under a light which shakes off torpor, the surprising things which surround us and which our senses record mechanically.”

Mirrors should think longer before they reflect.

The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication: that is why so many bad artists are unable to give it up.

I’ve always preferred mythology to history. History is truth that becomes an illusion. Mythology is an illusion that becomes reality.

Anything of any importance cannot help but be unrecognizable, since it bears no resemblance to anything already known.

Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is what’s known as infinity.

Living is a horizontal fall.

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.

May the devil himself splatter you with dung.

One must not mistake majority for truth.

An original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original.

I have seafoam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.

If it has to choose who is to be crucified, the crowd will always save Barabbas.

After the writer’s death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.

Art produces ugly things which frequently become more beautiful with time. Fashion, on the other hand, produces beautiful things which always become ugly with time.

My method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away.

The speed of a runaway horse counts for nothing.

Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.

Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

I saw myself in a different light.

The idea came like a flash of lightning and in an instant the truth was revealed.

Knowledge is love and light and vision.

We all know that light travels faster than sound. That’s why certain people appear bright until you hear them speak.

Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.

When I write, I write about my surroundings. Sometimes it’s light, and sometimes it gets very dark.