Never trust he who trusts everyone.
Waiting is the rust of the soul.
If people thought a quarter of what they speak, this world would be heaven.
He would have liked to know that somebody wanted to keep him alive, that someone remembered him. He used to say that we exist as long as somebody remembers us.
Most of us have the good or bad fortune of seeing our lives fall apart so slowly we barely notice.
I had never known the pleasure of reading, of exploring the recesses of the soul, of letting myself be carried away by imagination, beauty, and the mystery of fiction and language. For me all those things were born with that novel.