My ideal goal is to "mature" into childhood. That would be genuine maturity.

Under the imaginary table that separates me from my readers, don’t we secretly clasp each other’s hands?

Animals! the object of insatiable interest, examples of the riddle of life, created, as it were, to reveal the human being to man himself, displaying his richness and complexity in a thousand kaleidoscopic possibilities, each of them brought to some curious end, to some characteristic exuberance.

Reality is as thin as paper and betrays with all its cracks its imitative character.

And one's wandering proved as sterile and pointless as the excitement produced by a close study of pornographic albums.

Could it be that time is too narrow for all events? Could it happen that all the seats within time might have been sold? Worried, we run along the train of events, preparing ourselves for the journey.

In our town there was a Gestapo officer who loved to play chess. After the occupation began, he found out that my father was the chess master of the region, and so he had him to his house every night.