Of all the islands he'd visited, two stood out. The island of the past, he said, where the only time was past time and the inhabitants were bored and more or less happy, but where the weight of illusion was so great that the island sank a little deeper into the river every day. And the island of the future, where the only time was the future, and the inhabitants were planners and strivers, such strivers, said Ulises, that they were likely to end up devouring one another.

Bright colours in the west, giant butterflies dancing as night crept like a cripple toward the east.

If I were to say what I really think I would be arrested or shut away in a lunatic asylum. Come on, I am sure that it would be the same for everyone.

Poetry is the one thing that isn't contaminated, the one thing that isn't part of the game.

So everything lets us down, including curiosity and honesty and what we love best. Yes, said the voice, but cheer up, it's fun in the end.

The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.

No one pays attention to these killings, but the secret of the world is hidden in them.