Then he went out without touching anything and put his arm around Ingeborg, and like that, with their arms around each other, they returned to the village while the whole past of the universe fell on their heads.

I'll tell you, my friends: it's all in the nerves. The nerves that tense and relax as you approach the edges of companionship and love. The razor-sharp edges of companionship and love.

we interpret life at moments of the deepest desperation.

Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn't clear ... was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.

One should read Borges more.

In some lost fold of the past, we wanted to be lions and we're no more than castrated cats

I decided to tell the truth even if it meant being pointed at.