“I liked beaches, swimming pools, and clinics for there they were the bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. I pitied them and myself, but this will not protect me. The word and the thought are over.”

Two attributes of a poet, avidity of the eye and the desire to describe that which he sees.

All of us yearn for the highest wisdom, but we have to rely on ourselves in the end.

A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.

I am not my own friend.Time cuts me in two.

Even if that is so, there will remain A word wakened by lips that perish, A tireless messenger who runs and runs Through interstellar fields, through the revolving galaxies, And calls out, protests, screams.

It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends.

I knew that I would speak in the language of the vanquished No more durable than old customs, family rituals, Christmas tinsel, and once a year the hilarity of carols.

It is impossible to communicate to people who have not experienced it the undefinable menace of total rationalism.

A weak human mercy walks in the corridors of hospitals and is like a half-thawed winter.

What is poetry which does not save nations or people?

You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.

The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth.

And now I am ready to keep running When the sun rises beyond the borderlands of death. I already see mountain ridges in the heavenly forest Where, beyond every essence, a new essence awaits.

In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.

What has no shadow has no strength to live.

It was only toward the middle of the twentieth century that the inhabitants of many European countries came, in general unpleasantly, to the realization that their fate could be influenced directly by intricate and abstruse books of philosophy.

Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.

I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.

And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.

You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.

A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.

As if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.

Most drag queens, they put on music like it’s a costume. It’s not in their bones. It’s not in their background.

The Indians said the bones were those of a race of people three times the size of a man.