It seems to me that language is always used in an approximate, casual, careless way, and I feel intolerable annoyance about it. Let it not be thought that this reaction of mine corresponds to an intolerance for others: the worst annoyance I feel is hearing myself speak. That is why I try to speak as little as possible, and if I prefer to write, it is because by writing I can correct each sentence as many times as necessary to arrive at, I won’t say to be satisfied with my words, but at least to eliminate the reasons for dissatisfaction that I can realise.
I know a hundred ways to die, but my favourite remains writing.
How vain it is to sit down to write when one has not sat down to live.
The art of writing stories lies in knowing how to take everything else out of the nothingness one has understood about life; but when one has finished the page, one returns to life and realises that what one knew is nothing at all.
I only believe in the word. The word wounds, the word convinces, the word appeases. That, for me, is the meaning of writing.
I challenge anyone in his darkest hour to write down the things that make him happy, even the silly things like green grass or a friendly conversation with someone in a lift. He will begin to realise how rich he is.
I fill my emptiness with the weight of writing. That is why I balance on the tightrope of words.
Write neither for yourself nor for others, neither for today nor for tomorrow, neither for gain nor for glory: pursue your own little absolute…
I want the bayonet to be equated with the pen.
It is impossible to write in peace if what one writes is worth anything…
It is at night that thoughts take flight and the blank pages of my book begin to fill. But between the lines, there always remain empty spaces, unwritten thoughts, or dissipated in the rivulets of indecision. It is often in these places that we get lost. And sometimes we can no longer come out of them.
I travel in the galaxy of emotions, I paint words without wanting to be anything other than a man smiling at life…
…The most beautiful things are those that madness inspires and reason writes…
Congratulations Rached Alimi, you made us investigate the creative processes behind writing!
Life is made up of signs, just think of the layout of our genetic code, of the table of chemical elements; the world is made up of signs to admire, to interpret, to learn from, just think of the musical score, graffiti, design, tattoos, with a common goal: the non-verbal communication of feelings and emotions.
Writing is an intimate manifestation of our soul that reveals itself with signs that trace its face.
One writes because one feels the impulse or the need to make one’s ideas known, even out of habit. Sometimes writing becomes a need, a real personal necessity.
Personally, I write because I want to communicate with people from different cultures, it is like traveling!