When We Learn To Speak, We Learn

Poetry Is Not Truth, It Is The Resurrection Of Presences.

Deserve Your Dream.

The Whole Motley Confusion Of Acts, Omissions, Regrets And Hopes Which Is The Life Of Each One Of Us Finds In Death, Not Meaning Or Explanation, But An End.

Poetry, In The Past, Was The Center Of Our Society, But With Modernity It Has Retreated To The Outskirts. I Think The Exile Of Poetry Is Also The Exile Of The Best Of Humankind.

Every View Of The World That Becomes Extinct, Every Culture That Disappears, Diminishes A Possibility Of Life