Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death, but genuine pain doesn't live in the spirit, nor in the air, nor in our lives, nor on these terraces of billowing smoke. The genuine pain that keeps everything awake is a tiny, infinite burn on the innocent eyes of other systems.

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

Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.

Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.

The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.

We're all curious about what might hurt us.

Ditty of First Desire In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.