When I don't write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in a prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.

I prefer empty cages, Sabina, until I find a unique bird I once saw in my dreams.

I see enormous loves growing immense and finally crushing me.

We are going to the moon that is not very far. Man has so much farther to go within himself.

I write emotional algebra.

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

He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.