He who makes a paradise of his bread makes a hell of his hunger.

When everything is finished, the mornings are sad.

I have come one step away from everything. And here I stay, far from everything, one step away.

Without this ridiculous vanity that takes the form of self-display, and is part of everything and everyone, we would see nothing, and nothing would exist.

Sometimes at night I light a lamp so as not to see.

The children whom nobody leads by the hand are the children who know they are children.

Night is a world lit by itself.