“Laughter is the language of the soul.”

In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.

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

Conspirators in pajamas who exchange deep kisses for passwords.

A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory.

From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.

My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.

I do not love you-except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

I like on the table, when we’re speaking, the light of a bottle of intelligent wine.

Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?

Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness.

In the distance someone is singing.

Tie your heart at night to mine, love, and both will defeat the darkness like twin drums beating in the forest against the heavy wall of wet leaves.

What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.

I’ve always been very tied to language.

At every moment where language can’t go, that’s your mind.

I stand and listen to people speaking french in the stores and in the street. It’s such a pert, crisp language, elegant as ruffling taffeta.

Words hold little scope, for a love that stretches far beyond the limitations of language.

I’m all self-taught. I never had a teacher. Even for English, and French, and German, I hardly went to school.

The notion that in order to have a nation it is necessary for there to be a common language, a common territory and common culture has failed to stand the test of time or the scrutiny of scientific definition of objective reality…

Learning astrology is like learning any foreign language. You already have the ideas, concepts, and experiences of your life within you; you are just learning a new language for what you are already experiencing.

The only way therefore to try a Piece of Wit, is to translate it into a different Language: If it bears the Test you may pronounceit true; but if it vanishes in the Experiment you may conclude it to have been a Punn.