My life, the most truthful one, is unrecognizable, extremely interior, and there is no single word that gives it meaning.

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.

I only achieve simplicity with enormous effort

Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?

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.

Love is so much more deadly than I had thought, love is so much inherent as the very lack, and we are guaranteed by a need to be renewed continuously. Love is now, is forever. There is just the blow of grace - call it passion.

And even sadness was also something for rich people, for people who could afford it, for people who didn't have anything better to do. Sadness was a luxury.