Mexican writer and diplomat, "Pasado en claro" ("A Draft of Shadows") You learn something the day you die. You learn how to die.

A story is like something you wind out of yourself. Like a spider, it is a web you weave, and you love your story like a child.

Death is loneliness in its purest form.

Each generation must get on the same old merry-go-round, only disguised in a fresh coat of paint.

The real sin against life is to abuse and destroy beauty, even one's own even more, one's own, for that has been put in our care and we are responsible for its well-being.

I want to live in a world capital or the howling wilderness.

There has been a marvelous joyous carnival of mourning for Edith Piaf and Jean Coctaeau, and it was real! They died as they had lived, with style and grace and their proper eccentricity; and Paris loves anybody who can live anarchically and be delightful entertainment at the same time. So do I.