I'm such a jerk; it had never occurred to me that when we look at a photo from the front, the eyes reproduce exactly the position and the vision of the lens; it's these things that are taken for granted and it never occurs to anyone to think about them.

What good is a writer if he can't destroy literature? And us... what good are we if we don't help as much as we can in that destruction?

La Maga did not know that my kisses were like eyes which began to open up beyond her, and that I went along outside as if I saw a different concept of the world, the dizzy pilot of a black prow which cut the water of time and negated it.

Memory is a mirror that scandalously lies.

As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard. (...) You don't pick out the rain that soaks you to the skin when you come out of a concert.

Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.

Happy was she who could believe without seeing, who was at one with the duration and continuity of life.