A poet need not trouble himself if he lies. He lies only in the matter of love, as the regions of the heart are open to tempting conquest.
I am from there. I am from here. I am not there and I am not here. I have two names, which meet and part, and I have two languages. I forget which of them I dream in.
If the olive trees knew the hands that planted them, their oil would become tears.
I thought poetry could change everything, could change history and could humanize, and I think that the illusion is very necessary to push poets to be involved and to believe, but now I think that poetry changes only the poet.
Nothing is harder on the soul than the smell of dreams while they’re evaporating.
And I tell myself, a moon will rise from my darkness.
We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.
Standing here, staying here, permanent here, eternal here, and we have one goal, one, one: to be.
A person can only be born in one place. However, he may die several times elsewhere: in the exiles and prisons, and in a homeland transformed by the occupation and oppression into a nightmare.
Exile is more than a geographical concept. You can be an exile in your homeland, in your own house, in a room.
Life defined only as the opposite of death is not life.
On this earth there is that which deserves life.