Morality, too, is a question of time.

As a writer I'm merely a journalist who has learned to write better than others.

It was, at last, real life, with my heart safe and condemned to die of happy love in the joyful agony of any day after my hundredth birthday.

While a person does not give up on sex, sex does not give up on the person.

Surrealism runs through the streets.

and the two of them loved each other for a long time in silence without making love again.

Between the covers of the books that no one had ever read again, in the old parchments damaged by dampness, a livid flower had prospered, and in the air that had been the purest and brightest in the house an unbearable smell of rotten memories floated.