I have to lie, if I don't want to take madmen seriously and become a madman myself

In the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful ... Love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

Young is the one that plunges in the future and never looks back.

I want you to be weak. As weak as I am.

Even in the game there lurks a lack of freedom; even in a game is a trap for the players.

When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object.