I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited.

You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.

Nothing is built on stone; All is built on sand, but we must build as if the sand were stone.

Another school declares that all time has already transpired and that our life is only the crepuscular and no doubt falsified and mutilated memory or reflection of an irrecoverable process.

a ti también, en otras playas de oro,te aguarda incorruptible tu tesoro:la vasta y vaga y necesaria muerte.

Aquí también esa desconocidaY ansiosa y breve cosa que es la vida.(Here too the never understood,Anxious, and brief affair that is life.)

Any life, no matter how long or complex it may be, is made up essentially of a single moment—the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is.

Reality is partial to symmetry and slight anachronisms

Time is the substance from which I am made. Time is a river which carries me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.