Solitude Is The Profoundest Fact

We Pursue Modernity In Her Incessant Metamorphoses Yet We Never Manage To Trap Her. She Always Escapes: Each Encounter Ends In Flight. We Embrace Her And She Disappears Immediately: It Was Just A Little Air. It Is The Instant, That Bird That Is Everywhere And Nowhere. We Want To Trap It Alive But It Flaps Its Wings And Vanishes In The Form Of A Handful Of Syllables. We Are Left Empty-handed. Then The Doors Of Perception Open Slightly And The Other Time Appears, The Real One We Were Searching For Without Knowing It: The Present, The Presence.

Man Does Not Speak Because He Thinks; He Thinks Because He Speaks. Or Rather, Speaking Is No Different Than Thinking: To Speak Is To Think.

Beyond Myself, Somewhere, I Wait For My Arrival.

Deserve Your Dream.

For Every Language That Becomes Extinct, An Image Of Man Disappears.