The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.

Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.

Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.

I am interested in the shape of ideas even if I do not believe in them. There is a wonderful sentence in Augustine . . . "Do not despair: one of the thieves was saved; do not presume: one of the thieves was damned." That sentence had a wonderful shape. It is the shape that matters.

We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?

Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.

We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench