We feel in one world, we think and name in another. Between the two we can set up a system of references, but we cannot fill in the gap.

For women who do not love us, as for the "disappeared", knowing that we no longer have any hope does not prevent us form continuing to wait. We live on our guard, on watch; women whose son has gone asea on a dangerous exploration imagine at any minute, although it has long been certain that he has perished, that he will enter, miraculously saved, and healthy.

Like many intellectuals, he was incapable of saying a simple thing in a simple way.

I wished to see storms only on those coasts where they raged with most violence.

Pleasures are like photographs: in the presence of the person we love, we take only negatives, which we develop later, at home, when we have at our disposal once more our inner dark room, the door of which it is strictly forbidden to open while others are present.

We think and name in one world, we live and feel in another.

That translucent alabaster of our memories.