Poetry Is A Religion With No Hope.

When A Work Appears To Be Ahead Of Its Time, It Is Only The Time That Is Behind The Work.

History Is A Combination Of Reality And Lies. The Reality Of History Becomes A Lie. The Unreality Of The Fable Becomes The Truth.

The Hot Hall Full Of Painted Girls And American Soldiers Is A Saloon In Some Western Film. This Noise Drenches Us, Wakens Us To Do Something Else. It Shows Us A Lost Path.

The Public Is Never Pleased With What We Do, Wanting Always A Copy Of What We Have Done.

The Worst Tragedy For A Poet Is To Be Admired Through Being Misunderstood.