Room for differences

At a point in time, I came to read an article in the Dainish Railways passenger magazine Ud og Se from April 2012 about the Danish poet Søren Ulrik Thomsen.
He was quoted for the following, which I have also heard other people say, but never exactly as Søren Ulrik Thomsen does (in my feeble attempt of translation):

When I am annoyed with and very critical towards another person these days, I try to discipline myself and think of everything that is unique to him or her. The things that only this person can do, the things which I would miss if that person was no longer in the world. 

You can catch yourself thinking that there is a double-sidedness in this - that while thinking about what you would miss, you can seek some perverse pleasure by thinking this other human being dead. But apparently this is not what drives Søren Ulrik Thomsen. As he says in the following sentence: "It is a great poverty and folly not to be able to sense other people in all their diversity." Now, this is most certainly something we can learn from.(Translated from Rummelighed for forskellighed, originally published July 28th, 2012)

In progress without a purpose

In an interview with the Danish author and poet Søren Ulrik Thomsen in the Danish weekly newspaper Weekendavisen on the day before Christmas Eve, I read a very nice passage (in my own, most likely inadequate, translation):

I find that when you write, you do not quite know what you're doing. If you knew what you wanted to say, there was no reason to write it, as it would have been there already.

I've pretty much heard it from Thomsen before: that there is something in the poem, which is not in the poet, but when it becomes drafted in the above manner - and even followed up with:

When the book as written, you are as the author also its first reader. Then, you can spot some contexts, which were not aware existed while writing.

- it is as if something falls into place for me. Maybe it actually would be better to write something where one does not quite know what one does, instead of always trying to be in full control of the purpose of writing? Maybe thereby, one could see some of the contexts one did not know existed before things got written down?
(Translated from I færd uden formål)