A route differs from a road not only because it is solely intended for vehicles, but also because it is merely a line that connects one point with another. A route has no meaning in itself; its meaning derives entirely from the two points that it connects. A road is a tribute to space. Every stretch of road has meaning in itself and invites us to stop. A route is the triumphant devaluation of space, which thanks to it has been reduced to a mere obstacle to human movement and a waste of time.

People fascinated by the idea of progress never suspect that every step forward is also a step on the way to the end.

The love between dog and man is idyllic, dogs were never expelled from paradise.

She regarded books as the emblems of secret brotherhood. A man with this sort of library couldn't possibly hurt her.

[W]e must never allow the future to collapse under the burden of memory.

If I hadn't met you, I'd certainly have fallen in love with him.

She had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women. Don't let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong! But they were words she could not say. The only thing she said when he released her from his embrace was, "You don't know how happy I am to be with you." That was the most her reserved nature allowed her to express.