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Danh ngôn của Octavio Paz (Sứ mệnh: 2)

Solitude is the profoundest fact of the human condition. Man is the only being who knows he is alone.
Art is an invention of aesthetics, which in turn is an invention of philosophers... What we call art is a game.
Wisdom lies neither in fixity nor in change, but in the dialectic between the two.
Literature is the expression of a feeling of deprivation, a recourse against a sense of something missing. But the contrary is also true: language is what makes us human. It is a recourse against the meaningless noise and silence of nature and history.
Deserve your dream.
To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see it with our ears.
Man is alone everywhere. But the solitude of the Mexican, under the great stone night of the high plateau that is still inhabited by insatiable gods, is very different from that of the North American, who wanders in an abstract world of machines, fellow citizens and moral precepts.
The idea of modernity is beginning to lose its vitality. It is losing it because modernity is no longer a critical attitude but an accepted, codified convention.
In the works of Duchamp, space begins to walk and take on form; it becomes a machine that spins arguments and philosophizes; it resists movement with delay and delay with irony.
Wisdom lies neither in fixity nor in change, but in the dialectic between the two. A constant coming and going: wisdom lies in the momentary.
Poetry is the experience of liberty. The poet risks himself, chances all on the poem's all with each verse he writes.
The American War of Independence is the expulsion of the intrusive elements, alien to the American essence. If American reality is the reinvention of itself, whatever is found in any way irreducible or unassimilable is not American.
Poetry is not a genre in harmony with the modern world; its innermost nature is hostile or indifferent to the dogmas of modern times, progress and the cult of the future.
Poetry, whatever the manifest content of the poem, is always a violation of the rationalism and morality of bourgeois society.
Any reflection about poetry should begin, or end, with this question: who and how many read poetry books?
I think we all have our own personality, unique and distinctive, and at the same time, I think that our own unique and distinctive personality blends with the wind, with the footsteps in the street, with the noises around the corner, and with the silence of memory, which is the great producer of ghosts.