Myth is the nothing that is all.

Why is art beautiful? Because it's useless. Why is life ugly? Because it's all ends and purposes and intentions.

Silence emerges from the sound of rain and spreads in a crescendo of gray monotony over the narrow street I contemplate. I’m sleeping while awake, standing by the window, leaning against it as against everything. I search in myself for the sensations I feel before these falling threads of darkly luminous water that stand out from the grimy building facades and especially from the open windows. And I don’t know what I feel or what I want to feel. I don’t know what to think or where I am.

The human soul is an abyss

My soul's the present shadow of a presence gone.

Nobody appropriates novelties as readily as the Portuguese.

Success consists in being successful, not in having potential for success. Any wide piece of ground is the potential site of a palace, but there's no palace till it's built.