I do not cut my life up into days but my days into lives, each day, each hour, an entire life.

The background reveals the true being and state of being of the man or thing. If I do not possess the background, I make the man transparent, the thing transparent.

Sharp nostalgia, infinite and terrible, for what I already possess.

…Perhaps this momentary life of ours is only the light that divides our infinite origin from our infinite end.

I unpetalled you, like a rose, to see your soul, and I didn't see it. But everything around -horizons of land and of seas-, everything, out to the infinite, was filled with a fragrance, enormous and alive.

I do not cut my life up into days but my days into lives, each day, each hour, an entire life.

I am not I. I am this one walking beside me whom I do not see, whom at times I manage to visit, and whom at other times I forget; who remains calm and silent while I talk, and forgives, gently, when I hate, who walks where I am not, who will remain standing when I die.