Shakespeare, I come!

Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail.

If I were personally to define religion, I would say that it is a bandage that man has invented to protect a soul made bloody by circumstance.

I acknowledge the Furies. I believe in them. I have heard the disastrous beating of their wings.

Mankind was never so happily inspired as when it made a cathedral.

Reading Roberto Bolano is like hearing the secret story, being shown the fabric of the particular, watching the tracks of art and life merge at the horizon and…

I realized that it was not by wisdom that poets write their poetry, but by a kind of nature or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets; for these a…