“It means much to have loved, to have been happy, to have laid my hand on the living Garden, even for a day.”

I do not write for a select minority, which means nothing to me, nor for that adulated platonic entity known as ‘The Masses’. Both abstractions, so dear to the demagogue, I disbelieve in. I write for myself and for my friends, and I write to ease the passing of time.

The tango is a direct expression of something that poets have often tried to state in words: the belief that a fight may be a celebration.

We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.

I believe books will never disappear. It is impossible for it to happen. Of all man’s diverse tools, undoubtedly the most astounding are his books… If books were to disappear, history would disappear. So would man.

I thought that a man can be an enemy of other men, of the moments of other men, but not of a country: not of fireflies, words, gardens, streams of water, sunsets.

The truth is that we live out our lives putting off all that can be put off; perhaps we all know deep down that we are immortal and that sooner or later all men will do and know all things.

When I feel I’m going to write something, then I just am quiet and I try to listen. Then something comes through. And I do what I can in order not to tamper with it.

The central fact of my life has been the existence of words and the possibility of weaving those words into poetry.

You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.

The sea is an idiom I cannot decipher.

Everything touches everything.

My books standing there on the shelf do not know that I have written them.

Don’t talk unless you can improve the silence.

I might accept immortality, if I had to do it. But I would prefer – if there is any afterlife – to know nothing whatever about Borges, about his experiences in this world.

The minotaur more than justifies the existence of the labyrinth.

Whoever would undertake some atrocious enterprise should act as if it were already accomplished should impose upon himself a future as irrevocable as the past.

Life begins now — right now — not tomorrow or the next day or the next. Every minute of every hour of every day, life begins anew. That means everything can change in an instant. It also means you can have a new beginning whenever you want.

My God, I think about way back in the day when we were running around in Mary Janes and Doc Martens, that whole 90210-inspired look. I’m glad that’s long gone.

You love me some days I’m honestly sure of it. You think I haven’t noticed and I’ll pretend I didn’t. You love me somedays and that’s okay with me.

Morning mist like a blanket to dawn, obscures the hope of a new day. Yet the sunrises high, and the blanket falls and hope returns to the stage.

Those who keep speaking about the sun while walking under a cloudy sky are messengers of hope, the true saints of our day.

I still hold hollow hopes for the day, my heart keeps it beat whenever I hear your name.

Just for today, let yourself be human.

Every tomorrow is determined by every today.