The only transformer and alchemist that turns everything into gold is love. The only magic against death, aging, ordinary life, is love.

Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.

I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.

When I don't write, I feel my world shrink. I lose my fire, my color.

Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.

The dream has to be translated into reality.