Creators of history always play with our impotence and our ignorance.

There is only as much space, only as much time, Only as much desire, only as many words, Only as many pages, only as much ink To accept all of us at light-speed Hurrying into the Promised Land Of oblivion that is waiting for us sooner or later.

Unjustified ambition kills value,Kills someone else's desire to fly, Cuts their wings, sucks their air.If there is nothing else, it eats its own life.

There is no born lover, There is no born Don Juan, For we are all lovers.

To leave out beautiful sunsets is the secret of good taste.

There are countless circles of hell; believers never penetrate the ninth circle.

He awaits himself while walking, out of the icy circle to escape.

Will the day tell its secret Before it disappears, Becomes timeless night.

Some people complain there are too many people on earth, Some people complain about secret societies, Some people accuse others of not being able to wake up early. Almost all people complain about something.