Our memory is childish and it saves only what we need.

They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds. I put this book here for you, who once lived So that you should visit us no more.

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

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.

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

We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.

It's true that what is morbid is highly valued today, and so you may think that I am only joking or that I've devised just one more means of praising Art with the help of irony.