Because of lies, we can produce and invent a possible world.
We have a limit, a very discouraging, humiliating limit: death.
To read a paper book is another experience: you can do it on a ship, on the branch of a tree, on your bed, even if there is a blackout.
When the poet is in love, he is incapable of writing poetry on love. He has to write when he remembers that he was in love.
A secret is powerful when it is empty.