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

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

Forms disappear, words remain, to signify the impossible.

There is always time to take more time.

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

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.

Anyone who attempts to relate his life loses himself in the immediate. One can only speak of another.