“Get to know other worlds, if only for comparison.”

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.

I started earning a living as a poet rather early on.

All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses.

Poetic talent doesn’t operate in a vacuum. There is a spirit of Polish poetry.

All is mine but nothing owned, nothing owned for memory, and mine only while I look.

No one compares to you, but there’s no you, except in my dreams tonight.

Nostalgia is also a dangerous form of comparison. Think about how often we compare our lives to a memory that nostalgia has so completely edited that it never really existed.

There is just no comparison between having a dinner date with a man and staying home playing canasta with the girls.

But I don’t want to be compared to anyone like to impose my own style of play and do the best for myself and for the club here

Do not compare, do not measure. No other way is like yours. All other ways deceive and tempt you. You must fulfill the way that is in you.

I kept telling her that we can’t compare our relationship to the neighbors.

The life of a writer is absolute hell compared to the life of a businessman.

All people are the same; only their habits differ.