I write as if to save somebody’s life. Probably my own. Life is a kind of madness that death makes. Long live the dead because we live in them.

For at the hour of death you became a celebrated film star, it is a moment of glory for everyone, when the choral music scales the top notes.

I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.

The only truth is that I live. Sincerely, I live. Who am I? Well, that's a bit much.

So long as I have questions to which there are no answers, I shall go on writing.

Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

Ela acreditava em anjo e, porque acreditava, eles existiam" | "She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed