Megaphone In Which The Wind Passes Singing.

Each In The Most Hidden Sack Kept The Lost Jewels Of Memory, Intense Love, Secret Nights And Permanent Kisses, The Fragment Of Public Or Private Happiness. A Few, The Wolves, Collected Thighs, Other Men Loved The Dawn Scratching Mountain Ranges Or Ice Floes, Locomotives, Numbers. For Me Happiness Was To Share Singing, Praising, Cursing, Crying With A Thousand Eyes. I Ask Forgiveness For My Bad Ways: My Life Had No Use On Earth.

There Is No Insurmountable Solitude.

I Like On The Table, When We're Speaking, The Light Of A Bottle Of Intelligent Wine.

Only A Burning Patience Will Lead To The Attainment Of A Splendid Happiness.

About Me, Nothing Worse They Will Tell You, My Love, Than What I Told You