…the world was trying to change its old face and show its underbelly of earth and roots.
Memory’s images, once they are fixed in words, are erased.
Falsehood is never in words; it is in things.
the cemetery is the home of those who are not here, come in.
The difference between the true and the false is only a prejudice of ours.
A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.
again I am torn between the necessity and the impossibility of answering.
Melancholy is sadness that has taken on lightness.
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