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“At that time, a number of myths were created by the young people of the smoking carriages and forests of hallucinogenic mushrooms, the hungry for the thirst of lysergic acid, who were too tired of the suffering they grew up in and needed to take refuge in dreams. In these children's universe there were unbelievable stories about places in the mountains that women sought to retreat to, places where people were united by music and love for a mutual spiritual growth. For Aunt Jeanine, who had grown up with the image of her father, an amputee due to the war, feeding on such stories was like a haven, one she would later try to turn into her home. And one of those stories, one particular one, stood in her memory until the last stage of her life, when she passed away at eighty-one, burned with fire. (...) At that time, kid, they said that if we searched enough, we would find a place where the world wouldn't end. Men would never know what hell of a place that was, totally unconquerable! A place where the dirty hands of men would never arrive. A place men would never know about . Don't you think I could find it? To have my body disappearing in the woods, as I saw happening to kids in Japan, in that forest that swallows them to its core. Flesh turned to powder, my essence disappearing in the middle of life. They said that, when you die at a place, you'll stay at that place forever. That was why everyone was afraid to go to war. They weren't afraid of dying, kid, they were afraid of dying there.”

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Book:Os Homens Nunca Saberão Nada Disto
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“A Verdade! Aquela que nós procuramos durante toda a nossa vida, sem conseguirmos perceber que está aqui dentro…aqui, pai….aqui, para onde eu aponto, no meu peito, numa junção genética de histórias, nos tons violetas e dourados de um céu que não esconde nada mais do que a sua beleza. Enquanto a Deusa me acena, vejo a metade exata de cada um de nós, aquela que nós vamos procurar incansavelmente durante todos os anos da nossa vida, sem nos deixar perceber que o sonho é uma loucura.”

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Book:Os Homens Nunca Saberão Nada Disto
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“Deixa-se cair para trás, como um peso morto. O cabelo vermelho solta-se do elástico e espalha-se na superfície colorida das almofadas, o corpo branco fica em contraste evidente, o brilho nos seus olhos avermelhados torna-se intenso e resplandece. A minha tia, assim deitada, parece uma deusa num orgasmo, só que, por dentro, ela está a sofrer. Fecho os olhos e inspiro profundamente. Está a acontecer-nos o mesmo, estamos a desaparecer. Penso na matéria dos nossos corpos, mutável, a extinguir-se nas partículas do ar, enquanto respiramos. Nesta sala, por todo o lado, estamos impressos nas paredes, no ar que se fixa nas coisas. Eu respiro e olho para ela. Estou preso nela.”

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Book:Os Homens Nunca Saberão Nada Disto
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