Silence, exile, cunning and so on... it's my nature to keep quiet about most things. Even the ideas in my work.

Nostalgia is a product of dissatisfaction and rage. It´s a settling of grievances between the present and the past.

You live in a tower that soars to heaven and goes unpunished by God.

I understand there are some men who are only half here. Let's not say men. Let's say people. People who are more or less obscure at times.

Do people still shoot at presidents? I thought there were more stimulating targets.' (20)

When birds look into houses, what impossible worlds they see.

Her death would leave me scattered, talking to chairs and pillows. Don't let us die, I want to cry out to that fifth-century sky ablaze with mystery and spiral light. Let us both live forever, in sickness and health, feebleminded, doddering, toothless, liver-spotted, dim-sighted, hallucinating. Who decides these things? What is out there? Who are you?