I'm not me but living matter fermenting and forming its own shapes in the fruitfulness of every day.

You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop.

I move in the university of the waves.

How much does a man live, after all?/ Does he live a thousand days, or one only? For a week, or for several centuries?/ How long does a man spend dying?/ What does it mean to say 'for ever'?

The bare earth, plantless, waterless, is an immense puzzle. In the forests or beside rivers everything speaks to humans. The desert does not speak. I could not comprehend its tongue; its silence...

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

The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.