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

Every novel is an ideal plane inserted into the realm of reality.

The Falklands thing was a fight between two bald men over a comb.

A system is nothing more than the subordination of all aspects of the universe to any one of such aspects.

A writer’s work is the product of laziness.

Poets, like the blind, can see in the dark.

It is clear that there is no classification of the Universe that is not arbitrary and full of conjectures. The reason for this is very simple: we do not know what kind of thing the universe is.

In Spanish it is very difficult to make things flow, because words are over-long. But in English, you have light words.

Chang Tzu tells us of a persevering man who after three laborious years mastered the art of dragon-slaying. For the rest of his days, he had not a single opportunity to test his skills.

In my next life I will try to commit more errors.

Poetry remembers that it was an oral art before it was a written art.

Then I reflect that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to me.

Reality favors symmetry.

Writing is nothing more than a guided dream.

I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me.

Creativity is suspended between memory and forgetting.

I suppose identity depends on memory. And if my memory is blotted out, then I wonder if I exist – I mean, if I am the same person. Of course, I don’t have to solve that problem. It’s up to God, if any.

There are two kinds of stones, as everyone knows, one of which rolls.

I want to say to you, friends, that the Jewish community in Palestine is going to fight to the very end. If we have arms to fight with, we will fight with those, and if not, we will fight with stones in our hands.

We heap up around us things that we do not need as the crow makes piles of glittering pebbles.

Our hearts of stone become hearts of flesh when we learn where the outcast weeps.

These stones In her pockets, the dime of her – compassion.

Our wounds ultimately give us wisdom. Our stumbling blocks inevitably become our stepping stones. And our setbacks lead us to our strengths

I am one of the sort that lives by throwing stones at other people’s glass houses, but I never mean to put up one for them to stone.

Unfortunately, the higher you climb in social media, the more people will want to throw stones at you. But don’t retaliate publicly.