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

I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.

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

The duende....Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.

If blue is dream what then innocence? What awaits the heart if Love bears no arrows?

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.

To see you naked is to recall the Earth.