Whether or not God is dead: it is impossible to keep silent about him who was there for so long.

He who is obsessed by death is made guilty by it.

Slumbering in every human being lies an infinity of possibilities, which one must not arouse in vain. For it is terrible when the whole man resonates with echoes and echoes, none becoming a real voice.

A 'modern' man has nothing to add to modernism, if only because he has nothing to oppose it with. The well-adapted drop off the dead limb of time like lice.

Everything one records contains a grain of hope, no matter how deeply it may come from despair.

A head full of stars, just not in constellation yet.

You have but to know an object by its proper name for it to lose its dangerous magic.