I write only because I cannot stop.

In Santiago, the capital of the kingdom of Chile, at the moment of the great earthquake of 1647 in which many thousands lost their lives, a young Spaniard called Jeronimo Rugera was standing beside one of the pillars in the prison to which he had been committed on a criminal charge, and he was about to hang himself.

To live in a place where I am not, and in a time that is either past or not yet come.

We must make a journey around the world to see if a back door has perhaps been left open.

I write only because I cannot stop.