I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
We are all right, including the cat who is wounded in a catfight.
Day… night… it seems to me sometimes the earth must have got stuck, one sunless day, in the heart of winter, in the grey of evening.
“Rome reminds me of a man who lives by exhibiting to travellers his grandmother’s corpse.”
“I think people might be willing to pay for the special odour of corruption which, I hope, floats over my stories”
I cannot enter the social order except as a vagabond.
We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?