Love is not a desire for beauty; it is a yearning for completion.

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Love is born at first sight; the friendship of a frequent and lengthy exchange.

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Love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual.

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Believing ourselves to be possessors of absolute truth degrades us: we regard every person whose way of thinking is different from ours as a monster and a threat and by so doing turn our own selves into monsters and threats to our fellows.

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For every language that becomes extinct, an image of man disappears.

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There is nothing sacred or untouchable except the freedom to think. Without criticism, that is to say, without rigor and experimentation, there is no science, without criticism there is no art or literature. I would also say that without criticism there is no healthy society.

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Every view of the world that becomes extinct, every culture that disappears, diminishes a possibility of life

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The beloved is already in our being, as thirst and "otherness." Being is eroticism. Inspiration is that strange voice that takes man out of himself to be every thing that he is, everything that he desires; another body, another being. Beyond, outside of me, in the green and gold thicket, among the tremulous branches, sings the unknown. It calls to me.

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By suppressing differences and peculiarities, by eliminating different civilizations and cultures, progress weakens life and favors death

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Eroticism is first and foremost a thirst for otherness. And the supernatural is the supreme otherness. This is perhaps the most noble aim of poetry, to attach ourselves to the world around us, to turn desire into love, to embrace, finally what always evades us, what is beyond, but what is always there – the unspoken, the spirit, the soul.

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