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.

The night stared me in the face, amorphous, blind, infinite, without frontiers. Not a single start relieved the darkness behind the glass.

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.

I felt myself being invaded through and through, I crumbled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.

I never read to kill time. Killing time is like killing someone's wife or a child. There is nothing more precious for me than time.

Plentitude, when too plentitudinous, was worst than destitution, for obviously what could one do, if there was nothing one could not?

A dream will always triumph over reality, once it is given the chance.