Memory Is A Mirror That Scandalously Lies.

The Fantastic Breaks The Crust Of Appearance … Something Grabs Us By The Shoulders To Throw Us Outside Ourselves. I Have Always Known That The Big Surprises Await Us Where We Have Learned To Be Surprised By Nothing, That Is, Where We Are Not Shocked By Ruptures In The Order.

[heaven Is] That Moment In Which Something Attains Its Maximum Depth, Its Maximum Reach, Its Maximum Sense, And Becomes Completely Uninteresting.

The Mysterious Does Not Spell Itself Out In Capital Letters, As Many Writers Believe, But Is Always Between, An Interstice.

After The Age Of 50 We Begin To Die Little By Little In The Deaths Of Others.

I Realized That Searching Was My Symbol, The Emblem Of Those Who Go Out At Night With Nothing In Mind, The Motives Of A Destroyer Of Compasses.