Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole... And this is the exact process of the making of poetry, or what should be called not its "making" but its remaking...

Poetry, which is perfection's sweat but which must seem as fresh as the raindrops on a statue's brow, combines the natural and the marmoreal; it conjugates both tenses simultaneously: the past and the present, if the past is the sculpture and the present the beads of dew or rain on the forehead of the past. There is the buried language and there is the individual vocabulary, and the process of poetry is one of excavation and of self-discovery...

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