A cluster of stars palely glowed above us, between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own.

My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ.

Existence is a series of footnotes to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.

One is always at home in one's past.

Life is a message scribbled in the dark.

Measure me while I live - after it will be too late.

Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.