Admire the world for never ending on you — as you would admire an opponent, without taking your eyes from him, or walking away. One of the few things i know about writing is this:
spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is .. destructive.
Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes. After Michelangelo died, someone found in his studio a piece of paper on which he had written a note to his apprentice, in the handwriting of his old age:
” Draw, Antonio, draw, Antonio, draw and do not waste time.

No se, no melo digas, no lo sabes
Nadie sabe estas cosas
Pero acercando todos mis sentidos
a la luz de tu piel, desapareces,
te fundes como el acido
aroma de una fruta
y el calor de un camino,
el olor de laiz que se desgrana,
la madreselva de la tarde pura,
los nombres de la tierra polvorienta,
el perfume infinito de la patria
magnolia y matorral, sangre y harina,
galope de caballos,
la luna polvorienta de la aldea,
el pan recién nacido:
ay todo de tu piel vuelve a mi boca,
vuelve a mi corazón, vuelve a mi cuerpo,
y vuelvo a ser contigo
la tierra
que tu eres
eres en m profunda primavera:
vuelvo a saber en ti como germino.

y ingles

I don’t know, don’t tell me, you don’t know.
Nobody knows these things.
But bringing my senses close to the light of your skin, you disappear,
you melt like the acid
aroma of a fruit
and the heat of a road,
and the smell of corn being stripped,
the honeysuckle of the pure afternoon,
the names of the dusty earth,
the infinite perfume of our country:

magnolia and thicket, blood and flour,
the gallop of horses,
the village’s dusty moon,
newborn bread:
ah from your skin everything come back to my mouth
comes back to my heart, comes back to my body,
and with you i become again
the earth that you are:
you are deep spring in me:
in you i know again how i am born