The more we try to rest ourselves from our Egos, the deeper we sink into it.
What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.
If we could see ourselves as others see us, we would vanish on the spot.
God: a disease we imagine we are cured of because no one dies of it nowadays.
Between the demand to be clear,and the temptation to be obscure, impossible to decide which deserves more respect.
I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.