I know myself too well to believe in pure virtue.

Turbulent childhood, adolescent daydreams in the drone of the bus's motor, mornings, unspoiled girls, beaches, young muscles always at the peak of their effort, evening's slight anxiety in a sixteen-year-old-heart, lust for life, fame, and ever the same sky through the years, unfailing in strength and light, itself insatiable, consuming one by one over a period of months the victims stretched out in the form of crosses on the beach at the deathlike hour of noon.

When one has no character, one HAS to apply a method. Here it did wonders incontrovertibly, and I am living on the site of one of the greatest crimes in human history.

There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart.

As a remedy to life in society I would suggest the big city. Nowadays, it is the only desert within our means.

I want to know if I can live with what I know, and only than.

Myths are made for the imagination to breath life into them.