The Mexican, in contrast, is familiar with death. (He) jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with it, celebrates it. It is one of his favorite toys and his most steadfast love. |
The North American system only wants to consider the positive aspects of reality. Men and women are subjected from childhood to an inexorable process of adaptation; certain principles, contained in brief formulas are endlessly repeated by the Press, the radio, the churches, and the schools, and by those kindly, sinister beings, the North American mothers and wives. A person imprisoned by these schemes is like a plant in a flowerpot too small for it: he cannot grow or mature. |
To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see it with our ears. |
Today we all speak, if not the same tongue, the same universal language. There is no one center, and time has lost its former coherence: East and West, yesterday and tomorrow exist as a confused jumble in each one of us. Different times and different spaces are combined in a here and now that is everywhere at once. |
We are condemned to kill time, thus we die bit by bit. |
What distinguishes modern art from the art of other ages is criticism. |
Wisdom lies neither in fixity nor in change, but in the dialectic between the two. |
Writers, you know, are the beggars of Western society. |