Someday, somewhere – anywhere, unfailingly, you’ll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.
My poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn’t play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.