Reality is a staircase going neither up nor down, we don't move; today is today, always is today.

For every language that becomes extinct, an image of man disappears.

The ideal of a single civilization for everyone, implicit in the cult of progress and technique, impoverishes and mutilates us

Loving means getting rid of names.

I thought that the world was a vast system of signs, a conversation between giant beings. My actions, the cricket's saw, the star's blink, were nothing but pauses and syllables, scattered phrases from that dialogue. What word could it be, of which I was only a syllable? Who speaks the word? To whom is it spoken?

When we learn to speak, we learn to translate.

We are condemned to kill time, thus we die bit by bit.