A poet must have died as a man before he is worth anything as a poet.

Home is not where you live but where they understand you.

If I did not love what is present, if I could not cling to this enormous, safe parachute, I would long since have fallen into the abyss.

I have only one real and true enemy on earth, and that is myself.

The clouds deserve perhaps a special tribute, as the only visible barrier that separates man from infinite space, as the gracious curtain on the open fourth wall of the earthly stage.

The tall pines speak: we are not sad, not happy, we are secure.

The pitcher of nothingness from which all artists draw.

O deep love that inspires me to do anything.

For me, there is only one means of ensuring that I do not lose respect for myself: constant criticism.

Who knows if the idea does not make a very tiny noise like the finest instruments and empirically unravel (by comparison and experiment) what would be.

In every work of art, the artist himself is present.

My method is to find a word with a gesture.

There is something pathetic about a poet without love. What use are May and nightingales and moonlit nights? A sad state of affairs.

A true artist never portrays to please, but to show.

My only prayer is deepening. By it alone I can again reach God. Depression! Depression!

My heart seems to me today like a gingerbread heart, which has been lying in the rain.

Nature knows no colors, only colorful transitions.

One should not be mislead by my irony. My irony is naive as my pathos. I can express incredible irony, without a trace of emotion ... frivolous, perhaps I wrote it with the most serious face.

The self-esteem of a cat is extraordinary.

I can not bear unexplained circumstances. Why can't people be open with each other? Clean air between us!

Humor is the contemplation of the finite from the point of view of the infinite.