In the middle of life, death comesto take your measurements. The visitis forgotten and life goes on. But the suitis being sewn on the sly.

I wrote so meagerly to you. But what I couldn't write swelled and swelled like an old-fashioned airship and drifted away at last through the night sky.

The gentle downward slope gets steeper and imperceptibly becomes an abyss.

Weary of all who come with words, words but no language,I make my way to the snow-covered island.The untamed has no words.The unwritten pages spread out on every side!I come upon the tracks of deer in the snow.Language but no words.

Death stoops over me.I'm a problem in chess. Hehas the solution.

Понякога животът ми очи отваря в мракаи ме обзема чувството, че множества кръстосват улиците,а аз стоя невидим и ги наблюдавамкак сляпо и тревожно търсят чудо.Така детето се унася в сън - уплашеноот прокънтяващите стъпки на сърцетодалеч, далеч, догдето утрото не пъхне лъч в ключалката,за да отвори дверите на мрака.