Saturday is an illusion.
The bed is a metaphysical piece of furniture.
I am, and have always been, a pornographic angel.
The keyhole is my lens as a writer.
Love is eternal. If it ends, it wasn’t love.
A thunderous boo is one thousand times stronger, nobler, and more powerful than a standing ovation. Admiration corrupts.
Until the day when a wise black man can become our ambassador in Paris, we will forever be a pre-Brazil.
Memory is a swindler, a forger emeritus of facts and figures.
The young have all the same flaws adults do. Plus one: immaturity.
Not all women like being beaten up. Only the normal ones.
Only the prophets see the obvious.
The audience will only truly respect you when they have no idea what is going on.
Any individual is greater than the Milky Way.
If people knew the sexual intimacy of each other, no one would greet each other on the street.
Brazil is very unpopular in Brazil.
Marriage is the ultimate solitude with minimal privacy.
Perverted is any ordinary person caught in the act.
Only cynicism redeems a wedding. It takes a lot of cynicism for a couple to reach silver wedding.
We are not on our fours, howling in the woods, only because guilt saves us.
Any love is condemned to suffer a murderous persecution. We are impotent of feeling and do not forgive other people’s love. So don’t let anyone know that you love.