Books are not objects, but people, the people who hide behind them. People are gateways to other people...

From “Man, who needed nothing”

…I could no longer tolerate being in love. I couldn’t stand my heart living independently of my body.  Nothing remained, only Sylvia. I was nothing. She was all that mattered. I existed only when I was breathing her, when I was remembering the last detail of what she’d said, when my fingers and my entire body were remembering her skin, when in my thoughts I was touching her, sensing her closing her eyes and opening them again, when I saw how much she loved and wanted me. Whenever I would shut her apartment door behind me, nothing of me would remain.  At that instant, as if doused with Sulfuric acid, I would disappear into a puff of smoke.  I would wander the streets with nothing to do, and then I would go to bed.

I hadn’t found my other half; I’d found myself.  Now what?... 

From "The easiest"

…You know what? I decided to be happy.  What’s wrong with that?  Everyone has the right to be happy. From now on, I’ll spend five minutes every morning telling myself a story about how pleasantly I will spend my day.  I’ll make a pledge to myself.   I’ll set myself up for goodness and happiness.  This attitude will make it impossible to be distracted from my goal.  These morning discussions with myself will indeed be useful moments in my life. 

I think that happiness is like smoke.  The more you blow on it, the more there is…

 

...I feel like dust under the rug.  Nobody sees me. That’s why they trample me without any regrets. Oh, sorry.  I forgot that I had decided to be happy, to inspire my life with new fire.  I just don’t have time today. I have to work...

 

…What if I were a feather, a two-centimeter-long brown feather? I would soar across the sky. A bird would find me, carry me to its nest, place its eggs on top of me and hatch baby chicks.  Then it would throw two of them out because there wouldn’t be enough worms, not enough for all four chicks.  And I would witness it all. Next year, the birds wouldn’t return to that nest.  In a few years it would rot and I would drift to the ground.  The wind would lift me up and I would soar across the sky…