...with the end of my breath, which is the beginning of yours.

Who am I? If this once I were to rely on a proverb, then perhaps everything would amount to knowing whom I 'haunt.'

We all love conflagrations. When the sky changes color, it is a dead man's passing.

At the outset, it is only liking, not understanding, that matters. Gaps in understanding ... are not only important, they are perhaps even welcome, like clearings in the woods, the better to allow the heart's rays to stream out without obstacle. The unlit shadows should remain obscure, which is the very condition of enchantment.

A work of art has value only if tremors of the future run through it.

It is living and ceasing to live that are imaginary solutions. Existence is elsewhere.

There are fairy stories to be written for adults. Stories that are still in a green state.