I gathered poets around me and we all wrote beautiful erotica. As we were condemned to focus only on sensuality, we had violent explosions of poetry.….

I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds..

I believe that in judging our actions we are more severe than professional judges. We judge not only our actions, but our thoughts, our intentions, o….

The dream has to be translated into reality..

I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go..

If you are terribly truthful, the ground will always move from under you, and you will have to shift with the constantly shifting truth..

You live out the confusions until they become clear..

What a mystery this is, desire. The love sickness, the sensitivity, the obsession, the flutter of the heart, the ebb and flow of the blood. There is ….

I cheat him, I deceive him, yet the world does not sink in sulphur-colored mists. Madness conquers. I can no longer put my mosaics together. I just c….

When your beauty struck me, it dissolved me. Deep down, I am not different from you. I dreamed you, I wished for your existence. I see in you that pa….

It takes courage to push yourself to places you have never been before... to test your limits... to break through barriers. And the day came when the….

I am a failure as a writer. The publishers won't publish me, the bookshops won't carry my books, the critics won't write about me. I am excluded from….

The body is an instrument which only gives off music when it is used as a body..

That is my essential reason for writing, not for fame, not to be celebrated after death, but to heighten and create life all around me. I also write ….

Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live..

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, m….

There is a fissure in my vision and madness will always rush through..

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of….

[in the]..curious way that my idealism has been mixed with my fatalism, so that I can possess the soul of a dreamer and that of a cynic at the same t….

"We see the world as 'we' are, not as 'it' is; because it is the "I" behind the 'eye' that does the seeing.".

I'm sick of my own romanticism!.