Not a single star will be left in the night. The night will not be left. I will die and, with me, the weight of the intolerable universe. I shall erase the pyramids, the medallions, the continents and faces. I shall erase the accumulated past. I shall make dust of history, dust of dust. Now I am looking on the final sunset. I am hearing the last bird. I bequeath nothingness to no one.

A writer - and, I believe, generally all persons - must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource.

Then I reflect that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to me.

As the end approaches, there are no longer any images from memory - there are only words.

So plant your own gardens and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

In Spanish it is very difficult to make things flow, because words are over-long. But in English, you have light words.

The heresies we should fear are those which can be confused with orthodoxy.