<i>¡No, yo no soy un vago! Mi imaginación no descansa. Los vagos son ellos, los que dicen que trabajan y no hacen sino aturdirse y ahogar el pensamie… - Miguel de Unamuno

All of this that is happening to me, and happening to others about me, is it reality or is it fiction? May not all of it perhaps be a dream of God, or of whomever it may be, which will vanish as soon as He wakes? And therefore when we pray to Him, and cause canticles and hymns to rise to Him, is it not that we may lull Him to sleep, rocking the cradle of His dreams? Is not the whole liturgy, of all religions, only a way perhaps of soothing God in His dreams, so that He shall not wake and cease to dream us?

Дните идват и отминават, а любовта остава. Там вътре, в глъбините, в сърцевината на нещата, се докосват и срещат потокът на този свят и насрещният поток на другия свят. От този досег и от това съприкосновение се ражда най-тъжната и най-сладката от всички мъки - мъката да живееш.

That which the fascists hate, above all else, is intelligence.