I see History as a relay race in which one of us, before dropping in his tracks, must carry one stage further the challenge of being a man.
Men sometimes die much earlier than they are burried.
They thought I suffered from lack of exterior, when I suffered from excess of interior
Literature is greater than any of us, dammit.
Reality is not an inspiration for literature. At its best, literature is an inspiration for reality.
Disease-carrying thoughts swarm and multiply in the dark and twisted labyrinths of our minds, and all that is needed is a mob and a good political slogan for the epidemic to be spread once again, with a burst of automatic weapons or a mushroom cloud.