Where Are The Beginnings, The

The Unusual Is Only Found In A Very Small Percentage, Except In Literary Creations, And That Is Exactly What Makes Literature.

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

Why Have We Had To Invent Eden, To Live Submerged In The Nostalgia Of A Lost Paradise, To Make Up Utopias, Propose A Future For Ourselves?

Time Is Born In The Eyes, Everybody Knows That.

What Good Is A Writer If He Can't Destroy Literature? And Us... What Good Are We If We Don't Help As Much As We Can In That Destruction?