“Poetry is indispensable – if I only knew what for.”

Art is science in the flesh.

Fight any instinct to be humorless, for humorlessness is the worst of all absurdities.

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.

And now I have to confess the unpardonable and the scandalous. I am a happy man. And I am going to tell you the secret of my happiness. It is quite simple. I love mankind. I love love. I hate hate. I try to understand and accept.

Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.

Elegance ceases to exist when it is noticed.

The ability to laugh heartily is the sign of a healthy soul.

One of the characteristics of the dream is that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.

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.

There are tones of voices that mean more than words.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

One can speak poetry just by arranging colors well, just as one can say comforting things in music.

Poetry puts starch in your backbone so you can stand, so you can compose your life.

We are surrounded by poetry on all sides.

Poetry arrived in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don’t know how or when.

Poetry surrounds us everywhere, but putting it on paper is, alas, not so easy as looking at it.

I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.