I work only with lost and founds.

Even great men are only truly recognized and honored once they are dead. Why? Because those who praise them need to feel themselves somehow superior to the person praised, they need to feel they are making some concession.

And now -- now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me? Don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.

Holding someone's hand was always my idea of joy.

In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.

What I want is to live of that initial and primordial something that was what made some things reach the point of aspiring to be human.

I just know that I don't want cheating. I refuse. I deepened myself but I don't believe in myself because my thought is invented.