Human beings can't bear silence.It would mean that they would bear themselves.

I am still there, at that distant place in time, I never left it, but live expanded in the past, or out of it.

So, the fear of death might be described as the fear of not being able to become whom one had planned to be.

We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.

I love tunnels. They 're the symbol of hope: sometime it will be bright again. If by chance it is not night.

A feeling is no longer the same when it comes the second time. It dies through the awareness of its return. We become tired and weary of our feelings when they come too often and last too long.

Isn't it true that it's not people who meet, but rather the shadows cast by their imaginations?