It is part of the nature of every definitive love that sooner or later it can reach the beloved only in infinity.

The point is to live everything.

Look, we don't love like flowers with only one season behind us; when we love, a sap older than memory rises in our arms.

Children are still the way you were as a child, sad and happy in just the same way-and if you think of your childhood, you once again live among them, among the solitary children.

Fate loves to invent patterns and designs. Its difficulty lies in complexity. But life itself is difficult because of its simplicity. It has only a few things of a grandeur not fit for us.

Love and death are the great gifts that are given to us; mostly they are passed on unopened.

To write rhythmic prose one must go deep into oneself and find the anonymous and multiple rhythm of the blood. Prose needs to be built like a cathedral. There, one is truly without a name, without ambition, without help; on scaffoldings, alone with one's consciousness.