All the visible universe is nothing but a shop of images and signs.
Even when she walks one would believe that she dances.
Progress, this great heresy of decay.
Life has but one true charm: the charm of the game. But what if we’re indifferent to whether we win or lose?
Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.
Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.