I am not my own friend.Time cuts me in two.

In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.

The voice of passion is better than the voice of reason. The passionless cannot change history.

The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.

The soul exceeds its circumstances.

Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.

Consolation Calm down. Both your sins and your good deeds will be lost in oblivion.

Do not feel safe. The poet remembers. You can kill one, but another is born. The words are written down, the deed, the date.

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

When a writer is born into a family, the family is finished.

I am composed of contradictions, which is why poetry is a better form for me than philosophy

I was never able to accept anyone else’s support but my own –

Bread – like real love – took time, cultivation, strong loving hands and patience. It lived, rising and growing to fruition only under the most perfect circumstances.

Cecilia had unleashed her blood in the bath, Amy Schraff said, because the ancient Romans had done that when life became unbearable.

The most dangerous thing you can do is to take any one impulse of your own nature and set it up as the thing you ought to follow at all costs.

Coffee, one of the most widely consumed beverages in the world, contains a plethora of naturally-occurring compounds, including several classes of antioxidants.

In youth the human body drew me and was the object of my secret and natural dreams. But body after body has taken away from me that sensual phosphorescence which my youth delighted in.

If history teaches us one thing, than that history teaches us nothing.

Books are immortal sons deifying their sires.

The prison of lust is just that very one of which the soul shuts the doors upon herself; for each act of indulgence is the shooting of a fresh bolt.

A poem is the perfect place to celebrate imperfection and exult in the ways you fall short of being the person you want to be.