I’d like to have enough time and quiet
To think about absolutely nothing,
To not ever feel myself living,
To only know myself in others’ eyes, reflected.

She’s a manner of speaking.
Even the flowers don’t come back, or the green leaves.
There are new flowers, new green leaves.
There are other beautiful days.
Nothing comes back, nothing repeats itself, because everything is real.

I’m glad I see with my eyes and not the pages I’ve read.

And I find a happiness in the fact of accepting —
In the sublimely scientific and difficult fact of accepting the inevitable natural.

I pass and I stay, like the Universe.

Things don’t have significance: they only have existence.
Things are the only hidden meaning of things.