A human being is a being who is constantly 'under construction,' but also, in a parallel fashion, always in a state of constant destruction.

I consider books to be good for our health, and also our spirits, and they help us to become poets or scientists, to understand the stars or else to discover them deep within the aspirations of certain characters, those who sometimes, on certain evenings, escape from the pages and walk among us humans, perhaps the most human of us all.

Human nature is, by definition, a talkative one, imprudent, indiscreet, gossipy, incapable of closing its mouth and keeping it closed.

I believe that I've been asked all possible questions. I, myself, if I were a journalist, would not know what to ask me.

Some drivers have already got out of their cars, prepared to push the stranded vehicle to a spot where it will not hold up the traffic, they beat furiously on the closed windows, the man inside turns his head in their direction, first to one side then to the other, he is clearly shouting something, to judge by the movements of his mouth he appears to be repeating some words, no one word but three, as turns out to be the case when someone finally manages to open the door, I am blind.

Words were not given to man in order to conceal his thoughts.

Today's bread does not eliminate yesterday's hunger, much less that of tomorrow.