Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.

At first glance, the rhythm may be confused with gaiety, but when you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical, empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.

I was lucky enough to see with my own eyes the recent stock-market crash, where they lost several million dollars, a rabble of dead money that went sliding off into the sea.

There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them.

In the garden I will die. In the rosebush they will kill me.

The day we stop resisting our instincts, we'll have learned how to live.

Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.