An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.

It was a meditation on life, love, old age, death: ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them.

The problem with marriage is that it ends every night after making love, and it must be rebuilt every morning before breakfast.

Don't open that door," she said. "The hallway is full of difficult dreams." And I asked her: "How do you know?" And she told me: "Because I was there a moment ago and I had to come back when I discovered I was sleeping on my heart.

I would give wings to children, but I would leave it to them to learn how to fly by themselves.

He thought that the world would make more rapid progress without the burden of old people.

Nobody teaches life anything.