The world cannot be seen. A glance does not necessarily mean the truth. The world came to me through imagination, a certain internal touch, large fingers that reach from inside, that brush across the surface of things, people, and colors, feeling their inner workings, without ever looking at them, those things and people that are so desired, so distant, so inaccessible. You can be blind and mute but not deaf. Blind, one cannot capture the meaning of words, what humans exchange through them, how they complete and embroider them. What bodies scream at the top of their voices, what glances say, the brume emitted by words. That world that never manages to be complete.and later..
Experience is different: sealed inside a glass ball you can perceive everything that was ever spoken, everything that words don't say, for the same reason that you never hear them. Beneath the outer layers of human skin, there are underground streams that run through us, imperceptible, delicate strings like those of a spiderweb that unite more inexorably than voices and oaths...It is actually a very beautiful story... the above excerpts giving nothing away about it. What a treasure this collection of translations is -- we would never read these gems otherwise!