As A Writer I'm Merely A Journalist

One Had To Live A Long Time To Know A Man's True Nature.

The People One Loves Should Take All Their Things With Them When They Die.

An Artisan Without Memories, Whose Only Dream Was To Die Of Fatigue In The Oblivion And Misery Of His Little Gold Fishes.

Life Had Already Given Him Sufficient Reasons For Knowing That No Defeat Was The Final One.

The Truth Is That The First Changes Are So Slow They Pass Almost Unnoticed, And You Go On Seeing Yourself As You Always Were, From The Inside, But Others Observe You From The Outside.