In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine. - Milan Kundera

What I love in a woman is not what she is in and for herself, but the side of herself she turns towards me, what she is for me. I love her as character in our common love story. what wuld Hamlet be without the castle at Elsinore, without Ophelia, without all the concrete situations he goes through, what would he be without the text of his part? What would be left but an empty, dumb, illusory essence?

Sometimes you make up your mind about something without knowing why, and your decision persists by the power of inertia. Every year it gets harder to change.

For the body is temporal and thought is eternal and the shimmering essence of flame is an image of thought.