We know ourselves only as far as we’ve been tested.
I have sympathy for young people, for their growing pains, but I balk when these growing pains are pushed into the foreground, when you make these young people the only vehicles of life's wisdom.
In the language of poetry, where every word is weighed, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all,...
Me—a teenager? If she suddenly stood, here, now, before me, would I need to treat her as near and dear, although she's strange to me, and distant? Shed a tear, kiss her brow for the simple reason that...
Any knowledge that doesn't lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.
I've reached the age of self-knowledge, so I don't know anything. People who claim that they know something are responsible for most of the fuss in the world.
Now enter, single file, the hosts who died early on,in Acts 3 and 4, or between scenes.The miraculous return of all those lost without a trace. The thought that they’ve been waiting patiently offstage...
After every war someone has to tidy up.
We call it a grain of sand,but it calls itself neither grain nor sand.It does just fine, without a name,whether general, particular,permanent, passing,incorrect, or apt.Our glance, our touch means not...
Poetry Reading To be a boxer, or not to be there at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds? Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare— it’s time to start this cultural affair. Half came insid...
I’m a poor audience for my memory.She wants me to attend her voice nonstop,but I fidget, fuss,listen and don’t,step out, come back, then leave again.She wants all my time and attention.She’s got no pr...
Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there's no such thing. Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
Some people flee some other people. In some country under a sun and some clouds. They abandon something close to all they’ve got, sown fields, some chickens, dogs, mirrors in which fire now preens. Th...
So what can they tell us, the writers of dream books,the scholars of oneiric signs and omens, the doctors with couches for analyses— if anything fits, it’s accidental, and for one reason only, that in...
De vreugde van het schrijven.
Everyone needs solitude, especially a person who is used to thinking about what she experiences. Solitude is very important in my work as a mode of inspiration, but isolation is not good in this respe...
We live longerbut less preciselyand in shorter sentences.
Memories come to mind like excavated statuesthat have misplaced their heads.
How many, after a shorter or longer life (if they still see a difference), good, because it’s beginning, bad, because it’s over (if they don’t prefer the reverse),
Devo moltoa quelli che non amo.Il sollievo con cui accettoche siano più vicini a un altro.La gioia di non essere ioil lupo dei loro agnelli.Mi sento in pace con loroe in libertà con loro,e questo l'am...