Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.

After the writer's death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.

I have seafoam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.

Without resistance you can do nothing

Whatever the public blames you for, cultivate it; it is yourself.

The only way to kill death is through photography.

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.