so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling.

Your house sounds like a train at midday, the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing, the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew . . .

There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.

I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.

Laughter is the language of the soul.

You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.