Nothing endures unless it has first been transposed into a myth, and the great advantage of myths is that they are ladies with portable roots.

What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again.

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.

The earth is heavy and opaque without dreams.

To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard

I needed to live, but I also needed to record what I lived.

Keeping a Diary all my life helped me to discover some basic elements essential to the vitality of writing.