Poets Don't Finish Poems, They Abandon Them.

Paintings Are Painted With Paint, Not With Ideas.

You Don't Make A Poem With Ideas, But With Words.

It Is In Front Of The The Paper That The Artist Creates Himself.

Poetry Is The Language Of A State Of Crisis.

A Soul Trembling To Sit By A Hearth So Bright, To Exist Again, It’s Enough If I Borrow From Your Lips The Breath Of My Name You Murmur All Night.