I walk along a street and see in the faces of the passersby not the expression they really have but the expression they would have for me if they knew about my life and how I am, if I carried, transparent in my gestures and my face, the ridiculous, timid abnormality of my soul.
I want to be a work of art, at least in my soul, since I can’t be one in my body.
To narrate is to create, for living is just being lived.
Nobody appropriates novelties as readily as the Portuguese.
Stones in the road? I save every single one, and one day I'll build a castle.
I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me.