“The blue light of the rising moon fell on the rocks and the scant forest of the taiga, revealing each projecting rock, each tree in a peculiar fashion, different from the way they looked by day. Everything seemed real but different than in the daytime. It was as if the world had a second face, a nocturnal face.”

“The blue light of the rising moon fell on the rocks and the scant forest of the taiga, revealing each projecting rock, each tree in a peculiar fashion, different from the way they looked by day. Everything seemed real but different than in the daytime. It was as if the world had a second face, a nocturnal face.”

“Mineral cactai,quicksilver lizards in the adobe walls,the bird that punctures space,thirst, tedium, clouds of dust, impalpable epiphanies of wind.The pines taught me to talk to myself.In that garden I learnedto send myself off.Later there were no gardens. ”

“To reduce poetry to its reflections of historical events and movements would be like reducing the poet's words to their logical or grammatical connotations.”

“Writers, you know, are the beggars of Western society.”

“No one is alone, and each change here brings about another change there.”

“Solitude is the profoundest fact of the human condition. Man is the only being who knows he is alone.”

“Self-discovery is above all the realization that we are alone: it is the opening of an impalpable, transparent wall - that of our consciousness - between the world and ourselves.”

“Any reflection about poetry should begin, or end, with this question: who and how many read poetry books?”

“Poetry is the experience of liberty. The poet risks himself, chances all on the poem's all with each verse he writes.”

“Surrealism is not a poetry but a poetics, and even more, and more decisively, a world vision.”

“Poetry is not a genre in harmony with the modern world; its innermost nature is hostile or indifferent to the dogmas of modern times, progress and the cult of the future.”