Religious poetry, civic poetry, lyric or dramatic poetry are all categories of man's expression which are valid only if the endorsement of formal content is valid.

Even a polemic has some justification if one considers that my own first poetic experiments began during a dictatorship and mark the origin of the Hermetic movement.

A poet clings to his own tradition and avoids internationalism.

The poet does not fear death, not because he believes in the fantasy of heroes, but because death constantly visits his thoughts and is thus an image of a serene dialogue.

The writer of stories or of novels settles on men and imitates them; he exhausts the possibilities of his characters.

War, I have always said, forces men to change their standards, regardless of whether their country has won or lost.

Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal but which the reader recognizes as his own.

Europeans know the importance of the Resistance; it has been the shining example of the modern conscience.

The antagonism between the poet and the politician has generally been evident in all cultures.

After the turbulence of death, moral principles and even religious proofs are called into question.

From the night, his solitude, the poet finds day and starts a diary that is lethal to the inert. The dark landscape yields a dialogue.

Til shade is gone, til water is goneInto the shadow with teeth baredScreaming defiance with the last breathTo spit in Sightblinder’s eye on the Last Day.

Loving yourself comes first from there everything else falls into place

Irish improves a poet.

I don't want to become a superstar and not see my family anymore.

Most people presume my mustache is not real because it's much darker than my regular hair.

By speaking, by thinking, we undertake to clarify things, and that forces us to exacerbate them, dislocate them, schematize them. Every concept is in itself an exaggeration.

It's a bomb. Just like you.

Losing still hurts, but that's good. When it stops hurting, that's when I stop playing.

There is nothing quite like the controlled burn of Eugene Marten’s prose. Waste is an exhilarating and unnerving piece of fiction.

Deeds are males, words females are.