It is a mistake to speak of a bad choice in love, since, as soon as a choice exists, it can only be bad.

If only for the sake of elegance, I try to remain morally pure.

That translucent alabaster of our memories.

Human altruism which is not egoism, is sterile.

Sometimes in the afternoon sky the moon would pass white as a cloud, furtive, lusterless, like an actress who does not have to perform yet and who, from the audience, in street clothes, watches the other actors for a moment, making herself inconspicuous, not wanting anyone to pay attention to her.

In times like ours, where the growing complexity of life leaves us barely the time to read the newspapers, where the map of Europehas endured profound rearrangements and is perhaps on the brink of enduring yet others, where so many threatening and new problems appear everywhere, you will admit it may be demanded of a writer that he be more than a fine wit who makes us forget in idle and byzantine discussions on the merits of pure form.

We live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom: our body.