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In this there is no measuring with time, a year doesn’t matter, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn’t force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come.
Falling Stars
Do you remember still the falling stars that like swift horses through the heavens raced and suddenly leaped across the hurdles of our wishes—do you recall?...
A Dream for Winter
In the winter, we shall travel in a little pink railway carriage With blue cushions. We shall be comfortable. A nest of mad kisses lies in wait In each soft corner. ...
Storytellers
For a writer, the best way to speak is by writing. You will find everything I need to say in my works. Speech is carried off by the wind; the written word can never be obliterated. I would like you to find the patience to read my books. I cannot force you to do that, and even if you do, I do not expect your opinion of me to change. No writer has yet appeared, anywhere in the world, who is liked by all his readers; that is especially true during times like these. ...
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Përse e ruajmë ne kujtimin aq të kthjellët, aq të shtrenjtë, aq të mprehtë të ca minutave dashurie me Tokën, kujtimin e një ndijimi të mrekullueshëm dhe të shpejtë, si një përkëdhelje të një peizazhi të hasur në kthesën e një rruge, në hyrje të një lugine, buzë një lumi, ashtu siç do të takonim një vajzë të bukur dhe dashamirëse....Author info