The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
I am a lie who always speaks the truth.
After the writer's death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.
The poet never asks for admiration; he wants to be believed.
There are truths which one can only say after having won the right to say them.
The worst fate of a poet is to be admired without being understood.
Silence moves faster when it's going backward.
Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.
When a work appears to be ahead of its time, it is only the time that is behind the work.