A madman's ravings are absurd in relation to the situation in which he finds himself, but not in relation to his madness.

A man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his life as if he were recounting it.

Sometimes the truth is too simple for intellectuals.

In life man commits himself and draws his own portrait, outside of which there is nothing. No doubt this thought may seem harsh to someone who has not made a success of his life. But on the other hand, it helps people to understand that reality alone counts, and that dreams, expectations and hopes only serve to define a man as a broken dream, aborted hopes, and futile expectations.

There it is: I am gently slipping into the water's depths, towards fear.

Something begins in order to end: an adventure doesn't let itself be extended it achieves significance only through its death.

I suppose it is out of laziness that the world is the same day after day. Today it seemed to want to change. And then anything, anything could happen.