love

  Nobody has ever been beyond his own Illusion of Life.

   One will never find in the waterfall of sights anything else than the Illusion of Life, which falls in torrents on the granite rocks of the souls.

    All the stars in the sky cannot worth as much as yours only because it belongs to you.

      Nobody can open the gates of death without closing them again after him.

  We are a being only through our Illusion of Life.

  Being is the greatest paradox of life in front of death.

    Your soul fountain will never drain until the instant of eternity will halt before it to drink the water of death.

    We are born more dead than when we die after we have searched death through the storm of the instants of our entire life.

     Just the inexplicable wants to be understood within the nonsense of emptiness that belongs to this world of illusion.

Beauty is a way of coming up with something to which we assent immediately and absolutely, something that is incontrovertibly right, whether the rightness has to do with metaphysics or with physical reality, with social justice or with personal freedom, with mathematics, or, eventually, with love.