Here Is A Piece Of Earth. If

One Cannot Choose What He Writes - One Can Only Choose To Face It.

If We Have No Other Reality Beyond The Illusion, You Too Must Not Count Overmuch On Your Reality As You Feel It Today, Since, Like That Of Yesterday, It May Prove An Illusion For You Tomorrow.

As Soon As One Is Born, One Starts Dying.

Inevitably We Construct Ourselves. Let Me Explain. I Enter This House And Immediately I Become What I Have To Become, What I Can Become: I Construct Myself. That Is, I Present Myself To You In A Form Suitable To The Relationship I Wish To Achieve With You. And, Of Course, You Do The Same With Me.

I Would Love To Spend All My Time Writing To You; I'd Love To Share With You All That Goes Through My Mind, All That Weighs On My Heart, All That Gives Air To My Soul; Phantoms Of Art, Dreams That Would Be So Beautiful If They Could Come True.