poems are not made out of ideas. They’re made out of words.

The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.

There is only beauty / and it has only one perfect expression / poetry. All the rest is a lie /except for those who live by the body, love, and, that love of the mind,...

Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book.

The world exists to end up in a book.

I should point out, creating one’s own style, as much as is required to illustrate one of the aspects, the golden seam of language, involves beginning again at once, in a different manner, adopting the...

The world was made in order to result in a beautiful book.