I would like to be a philosopher in ancient Athens and a poet in ancient China.

Dying is so simple. A fleeting moment of suffering. In the blink of an eye you are over the threshold, into another world. No more pain, no more fears. You sleep so well there. Dying is like rubbing snow together, setting fire to a whole winter of cold and ice.

Endless moons, an opaque universe, thunder, tornadoes, the quaking earth. Rare moments of peace; forehead up against my knees, arms around my head, I though, I listened, I longed not to exist. but life was there, a transparent pearl, a star revolving slowly on its own axis.

The moon in all her immaculate purity hung in the sky, laughing at this world of dust. She congratulated me for my carefully considered maneuvers and invited me to share in her eternal solitude.

Heroes are damned. No mortal conquers Death.

I succeeded in using my charms like a weapon; I learned to play with other's hearts and to master my own desires.

I would like to be a philosopher in ancient Athens and a poet in ancient China.