You are the poet, you walk inside my dreams.

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

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.

He does not need opium. He has the gift of reverie.

All that is sacred and taboo in the world are meaningless.

The secret of life was Breath. That was what I always wanted my words to do, to Breathe.

..he made me understand something very important. Whether because I am a Latin, or because I am a neurotic, I have a need of gestures. I am myself expressive, demonstrative; every feeling I have takes on expression: words, gestures, signs, letters, articulateness or action. I need this in others.