Technology is making gestures precise and brutal, and with them men.
When all actions are mathematically calculated, they also take on a stupid quality.
There is no love that is not an echo.
There is no right life in the wrong one.
As a constellation, theoretical thought circles the concept it would like to unseal, hoping that it may fly open like the lock of a well-guarded safe-deposit box: in response, not to a single key or a single number, but to a combination of numbers
Love is the power to see similarity in the dissimilar.