He has, like me, a sense of smell. I let him inhale me, then I slip away.

although I love a rich life, I hate an overcrowded life. I believe in rumination and lose half the beauty of all things when I am deprived of the time to ruminate.

I walked into my own book, seeking peace. It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream; I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.

I write emotional algebra.

There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do.

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer.

We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.