so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.

I ask permission to be like everybody else,like the rest of the world and what's more, like anybody else:I beg you, with all my heart,if we are talking about me, since we are talking about me,please resist blasting the trumpet during my visitand resign yourselves to my quiet absence.

I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.

We the mortals touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all the these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.

For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.

I like on the table, when we're speaking, the light of a bottle of intelligent wine.

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.