Art is order, made out of the chaos of life.

From Euclid to Newton there were straight lines. The modern age analyzes the wavers.

There was a disturbance in my heart, a voice that spoke there and said, I want, I want, I want! It happened every afternoon, and when I tried to suppress it it got even stronger.

The ocean was waiting with grand and bitter provocations, as if it invited you to think how deep it was, how much colder than your blood or saltier, or to outguess it, to tell which were its feints or passes and which its real intentions, meaning business.

At moments I dislike having a face, a nose, lips, because he has them.

The hour that burst the spirit's sleep.

An exchange occurs between man and woman. Love and thought complete each other in the human pair, and something like an exchange of souls takes place, according to the divine plan.