Distraction is our habitual state. Not the distraction of the person who withdraws from the world in order to shut himself up in the secret and ever-changing land of his fantasy, but the distraction of the person who is always outside himself, lost in the trivial, senseless, turmoil of everyday life.

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The universe unfolds in the body, which is its mirror and its creature.

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To love is to battle, to open doors, to cease to be a ghost with a number forever in chains, forever condemned by a faceless master; the world changes if two look at each other and see.

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Self-discovery is above all the realization that we are alone.

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Reality is a staircase going neither up nor down, we don't move; today is today, always is today.

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For every language that becomes extinct, an image of man disappears.

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Solitude is the profoundest fact of the human condition. Man is the only being who knows he is alone.

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Love is not a desire for beauty; it is a yearning for completion.

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Love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual.

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Poetry is not truth, it is the resurrection of presences.

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