The sky, at sunset, looked like a carnivorous flower.

Of what is lost, irretrievably lost, all I wish to recover is the daily availability of my writing, lines capable of grasping me by the hair and lifting me up when I'm at the end of my strength. (Significant, said the foreigner.) Odes to the human and the divine. Let my writing be like the verses of by Leopardi that Daniel Biga recited on a Nordic bridge to gird himself with courage.

There's no place on earth with more dumb girls per square foot than a college in California.

Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.

If you're going to say what you want to say, you're going to hear what you don't want to hear.

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

I steal into their dreams," he said. "I steal into their most shameful thoughts, I'm in every shiver, every spasm of their souls, I steal into their hearts, I scrutinize their most fundamental beliefs, I scan their irrational impulses, their unspeakable emotions, I sleep in their lungs during the summer and their muscles during the winter, and all of this I do without the least effort, without intending to, without asking or seeking it out, without constraints, driven only by love and devotion.