There were epochs in the history of humanity in which the writer was a sacred person. He wrote the sacred books, universal books, the codes, the epic, the oracles. Sentences inscribed on the walls of the crypts; examples in the portals of the temples. But in those times the writer was not an individual alone; he was the people.

To write does not mean to convert the real into words but to make the power of the word real.

Letters couldn't care less whether what is written with them is true or false.

What happens is that your wretched memory remembers the words and forgets what's behind them

Facts can't be recounted; much less twice over, and far less still by different persons. I've already drummed that thoroughly into your head.

It is not by believing but by doubting that one can attain to the truth, which is ever changing form and condition.

In all nations an exceptional man exists that compensates the deficiencies of the remainder. In those moments, when humanity is found collectively in a state of decadence, there always remain those exceptional beings as point of reference.