I am not the we of anyone.

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When all else fails, philosophize.

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Truth is not spoken in anger. Truth is spoken, if it ever comes to be spoken, in love. The gaze of love is not deluded. It sees what is best in the beloved even when what is best in the beloved finds it hard to emerge into the light.

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Perhaps; but I am a difficult person to live with. My difficulty consists in not wanting to live with other people.

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A book should be an axe to chop open the frozen sea inside us.

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Poetry speaks to you either at first sight or not at all. A flash of revelation and a flash of response.

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You are going to end up as one of those sad old men who poke around in rubbish bins.

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His own opinion, which he does not air, is that the origin of speech lie in song, and the origins of song in the need to fill out with sound the overlarge and rather empty human soul.

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Sleep is no longer a healing bath, a recuperation of vital forces, but an oblivion, a nightly brush with annihilation.

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I’m going to end up in a hole in the ground... And so are you. So are we all.

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