Hope without love is hopeless.
Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
There can be no forced inspiration.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.
What we call life is only talk of nature.