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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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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Beyond myself, somewhere, I wait for my arrival.

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Light is time thinking about itself.

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To love is to battle, to open doors, to cease to be a ghost with a number forever in chains, forever condemned by a faceless master; the world changes if two look at each other and see.

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Self-discovery is above all the realization that we are alone.

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Each time we try to express ourselves we have to break with ourselves.

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To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see it with our ears.

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Humankind is never what he is but the self he seeks.

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My body, plowed by your body, will turn into a field where one is sown and a hundred reaped.

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