Slowly my body grows a single sound, slowly I become a bell, an oval, disembodied vowel, I grow, an owl, an aureole, white fire poesia "Metamorfosi, I. Luna

For every poet it is always morning in the world; history a forgotten, insomniac night. The fate of poetry is to fall in love with the world in spite of history.

Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.

Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor.

Good science and good art are always about a condition of awe. I don't think there is any other function for the poet or the scientist in the human tribe but the astonishment of the soul.

The English language is nobody's special property. It is the property of the imagination: it is the property of the language itself.

The sigh of History rises over ruins, not over landscapes, and in the Antilles there are few ruins to sigh over, apart from the ruins of sugar estates and abandoned forts.

The future happens. No matter how much we scream.

Memory that yearns to join the centre, a limb remembering the body from which it has been severed, like those bamboo thighs of the god.

The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror, and each will smile at the other’s welcome.

If you know what you are going to write when you're writing a poem, it's going to be average.

You rang my heart like a church bell at midnight. Trembling, I awoke to the sweet sound of love.

The only thing that powerful men feared above all else was a loss of that power.

Only me, eh? Is that how you see yourself? Only you is worth a good deal more than you think.

When I was a baby, I wore my mom's Chanel pumps - to be able to say that I work with Karl Lagerfeld is a dream come true.

So you interrupted my date to make fun of me for still living with my parents. Couldn't you have done that on a night I didn't have a date? That's most nights, in case you're curious.

No mercy goes unpunished by the angry gods.

We need both information and thinking. Information is no substitute for thinking and thinking is no substitute for information.

Teach your heart that this is destiny

Tradition and conscience are the two wings given to the human soul to reach the truth.

Im always suspicious of people who repent of other peoples sins.