Every gesture is a revolutionary act.

There is no happiness without knowledge. But knowledge of happiness is unhappy; for knowing ourselves happy is knowing ourselves passing through happiness, and having to, immediatly at once, leave it behind. To know is to kill, in happiness as in everything. Not to know, though, is not to exist.

There’s enough metaphysics in not thinking about anything.

Ser compreendido é prostituir-se.

We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.

I am the suburb of a non-existent town, the prolix commentary on a book never written. I am nobody, nobody. I am a character in a novel which remains to be written, and I float, aerial, scattered without ever having been, among the dreams of a creature who did not know how to finish me off.

But do we really live? To live without knowing what life is - is that living?