My homeland is the portuguese language.

We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It's our own concept—our own selves—that we love.

I'm a man for whom the outside world is an inner Reality.

I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me. A nearby field, a ray of sunlight, a little bit of calm along with a bit of bread, not to feel oppressed by the knowledge that I exist, not to demand anything from others, and not to have others demand anything from me - this was denied me, like the spare change we might deny a beggar not because we're mean-hearted but because we don't feel like unbuttoning our coat.

I realize that, while often happy and often cheerful, I am always sad.

Whenever someone tells me he dreamed, I wonder if he realizes that he has never done anything but dream.

Every gesture is a revolutionary act.