The chill of what I won't feel gnaws at my present heart.
It's been a long time since I've been me.
Nobody appropriates novelties as readily as the Portuguese.
I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect
Stones in the road? I save every single one, and one day I'll build a castle.
My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while.