“When it comes, you’ll be dreaming that you don’t need to breathe; that breathless silence is the music of the dark and it’s part of the rhythm to vanish like a spark.”

Secret codes resound. Doubts and intentions come to light.

Any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.

God was finally going to believe in a man both good and strong, but good and strong are still two different men.

My choices are rejections, since there is no other way, but what I reject is more numerous, denser, more demanding than before. A little poem, a sigh, at the cost of indescribable losses.

Existentialists are monumentally and monotonously serious; they don’t like to joke.

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.

Even boredom should be described with gusto. How many things are happening on a day when nothing happens?

They say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well, that one’s behind me, anyway.

Nothing’s a gift, it’s all on loan.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

The joy of writing. The power of preserving. Revenge of a mortal hand.

Life lasts but a few scratches of the claw in the sand.

Sometimes I write quickly, sometimes I spend several weeks on a single poem. I would really love for readers not to be able to guess which of the poems took so much work!

No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.

After every war someone has to tidy up.

Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.

There is nothing alive more agonized than man / of all that breathe and crawl across the earth.

Tread softly, Brathe peacefully, Laugh hysterically.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write, because our culture has no use for it.

When you arise in the moring, think of what a precious privelege it is to be alive – to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.

Anger is like a storm rising up from the bottom of your consciousness. When you feel it coming, turn your focus to your breath.

Smile, breathe and go slowly.

If you are still breathing, you have a second chance.