Don't sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live.

Only truthful hands write true poems. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem.

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.

A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing--, the no one's rose.

Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won.

Poetry is a sort of homecoming.

The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?

There's nothing in the world for which a poet will give up writing, not even he is a Jew and the language of his poems is German.

We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.'

German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry.... Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts "beauty." It tries to be truthful.

They've healed me to pieces.

Even the Sun gets tired of rising, but he does it out of love for the Earth...

...companionship refused is worse than loneliness.

Tears of joy are better than smiles of sorrow.

Be yourself, take control of your life.

Enjoy life. This is not a dress rehearsal.

Well, I'm still here. Didn't have to go to rehab, and I'm not broke.

Don't follow your passion, but always bring it with you.

The trick is to keep exploring and not bail out, even when we find out that something is not what we thought.

Sydney, this is the kind of shirt that says, ‘You’re never getting in here.

It seems everyday I find a new road, a new person that can help my cycling better and help me understand more things. I compare cycling to life often.