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.

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?

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

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.

Not being "okay, " is a gift. And inside that gift, is the strength to change and the courage to begin again.

What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone.

I had brutal beginnings. I will not let the darkness in.

It was as unsatisfying as a handjob from someone wearing an oven mitt.

When a good change is flowing towards you, don’t stand like the river stones before it!

Covetousness like jealousy, when it has taken root, never leaves a person, but with their life. Cowardice is the dread of what will happen.

He who does not need to lie is proud of not being a liar.

Those who do not read criticism will rarely merit to be criticised.

Be in the habit of getting up bright and early on the weekends. Why waste such precious time in bed?

I would have liked to personally have prosecuted Scott Peterson.