When I Die, I Will See The

From Life, From The Apple Cut By The Flaming Knife, What Grain Will Be Saved? My Son, Believe Me, Nothing Remains, Only Adult Toil, The Furrow Of Fate In The Palm. Only Toil, Nothing More.

Consolation Calm Down. Both Your Sins And Your Good Deeds Will Be Lost In Oblivion.

Poetry Is A Dividend From What You Know And What You Are.

I Was Left Behind With The Immensity Of Existing Things. A Sponge, Suffering Because It Cannot Saturate Itself; A River, Suffering Because Reflections Of Clouds And Trees Are Not Clouds And Trees.

Men Will Clutch At Illusions When They Have Nothing Else To Hold To.