What is this enigmatic impulse that does not allow one to settle down in the achieved, the finished? I think it is a quest for reality.

You who think of us: they lived only in delusion... Know that we the People of the Book, will never die!

I think that I am here, on this earth, to present a report on it, but to whom I don't know. As if I were sent so that whatever takes place has meaning because it changes into memory.

Irony is the glory of slaves.

I have no wisdom, no skills, and no faith but I received strength, it tears the world apart. I shall break, a heavy wave, against its shores and a young wave will cover my trace.

The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.

A weak human mercy walks in the corridors of hospitals and is like a half-thawed winter.