“I am who I am.A coincidence no less unthinkablethan any other.”

“The Three Oddest WordsWhen I pronounce the word Future,the first syllable already belongs to the past.When I pronounce the word Silence,I destroy it.When I pronounce the word nothing,I make something no nonbeing can hold.”

“Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven't got even that much, however loveless and boring--this is one of the harshest human miseries.”

“Let the people who never find true lovekeep saying that there's no such thing.Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.”

“They're both convincedthat a sudden passion joined them.Such certainty is beautiful,but uncertainty is more beautiful still.Since they'd never met before, they're surethat there'd been nothing between them.But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways--perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?I want to ask themif they don't remember--a moment face to facein some revolving door?perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?but I know the answer.No, they don't remember.They'd be amazed to hearthat Chance has been toying with themnow for years.Not quite ready yetto become their Destiny,it pushed them close, drove them apart,it barred their path,stifling a laugh,and then leaped aside.There were signs and signals,even if they couldn't read them yet.Perhaps three years agoor just last Tuesdaya certain leaf flutteredfrom one shoulder to another?Something was dropped and then picked up.Who knows, maybe the ball that vanishedinto childhood's thicket?There were doorknobs and doorbellswhere one touch had covered another beforehand.Suitcases checked and standing side by side.One night, perhaps, the same dream,grown hazy by morning.Every beginningis only a sequel, after all,and the book of eventsis always open halfway through.”

“The buzzard has nothing to fault himself with.Scruples are alien to the black panther.Piranhas do not doubt the rightness of their actions.The rattlesnake approves of himself without reservations.The self-critical jackal does not exist.The locust, alligator, trichina, horseflylive as they live and are glad of it.The killer whale's heart weighs one hundred kilosbut in other respects it is light.There is nothing more animal-likethan a clear conscienceon the third planet of the Sun.”

“Nothing has changed. The body is susceptible to pain,It must eat and breath air and sleep,It has thin skin and blood right underneath,An adequate stock of teeth and nails,Its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.In tortures all this is taken into account.Nothing has changed.The body shudders as it is shudderedBefore the founding of Rome and after,In the twentieth century before and after Christ.Tortures are as they were, it’s just the earth that’s grown smaller,And whatever happens seems on the other side of the wall.Nothing has changed.It’s just that there are more people,Besides the old offenses, new ones have appeared,Real, imaginary, temporary, and none,But the howl with which the body responds to them,Was, and is, and ever will be a howl of innocenceAccording to the time-honored scale and tonality.Nothing has changed.Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances,Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.The body writhes, jerks, and tries to pull awayIts legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,It turns blue, swells, salivates, and bleeds.Nothing has changed. Except of course for the course of boundaries, The lines of forests, coasts, deserts, and glaciers.Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,Disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,Alien to itself, elusiveAt times certain, at others uncertain of its own existence,While the body is and is and isAnd has no place of its own.”