“Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch”

“April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, coveringEarth in forgetful snow, feedingA little life with dried tubers.Summer surprised us, coming over the StarnbergerseeWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,And I was frightened. He said, Marie,Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.In the mountains, there you feel free.I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.”

“He is haunted by a demon, a demon against which he feels powerless, because in its first manifestation it has no face, no name, nothing; and the words, the poem he makes, are a kind of exorcism of this demon.”

“Poetry, if it is not to be a lifeless repetition of forms, must be constantly exploring "the frontiers of the spirit." But these frontiers are not like the surveys of geographical explorers, conquered once for all and settled. The frontiers of the spirit are more like the jungle which, unless continuously kept under control, is always ready to encroach and eventually obliterate the cultivated area.”

“أقول لنفسي إبقي بلا حراكوانتظري بلا أملفالأمل قد يكون تمنيًاللشئ الخطأوانتظري بلا حبفالحب قد يكون حبًاللشئ الخطأهناك بعد إيمانولكن الإيمان والحب والأملكلها في الانتظارانتظربلا فكرلأنك غير معدّ للفكروهكذا سيكون الظلام هو النورواللاحراك هو الرقص”

“time past and time futurewhat might have been and what has beenpoint to one end, which is always present.”

“Footfalls echo in the memorydown the passage we did not taketowards the door we never openedinto the rose garden. My words echothus, in your mind”