Memory Is A Mirror That Scandalously Lies.

Before Going Back To Sleep I Imagined (i Saw) A Plastic Universe, Changeable, Full Of Wondrous Chance, An Elastic Sky, A Sun That Suddenly Is Missing Or Remains Fixed Or Changes Its Shape.

When One Wants To Write, One Writes. If One Is Condemned To Write, One Writes.

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.

Time Is Born In The Eyes, Everybody Knows That.

All Profound Distraction Opens Certain Doors. You Have To Allow Yourself To Be Distracted When You Are Unable To Concentrate.