Of the two powers, the two categories that take possession of us when we enter the world (from where?), space is by far the less mysterious. It, too, undergoes transformations. Time, on the other hand, is a hostile element, truly treacherous, I would even say against human nature.

I see a poem as a multi-coloured strip behind peeling plaster, in separate, shining fragments.

A smart machine will first consider which is more worth its while: to perform the given task or, instead, to figure some way out of it.

You climb to reach the summit, but once there, discover that all roads lead down.

A candidate is a person who gets money from the rich and votes from the poor to protect them from each other.

Everything is explicable in the terms of the behavior of a small child.

Man does not create gods, in spite of appearances. The times, the age, impose them on him. Man can serve his age or rebel against it, but the target of his cooperation or rebellion comes to him from outside.