In the thirtieth first, the National Prize for Literature.

The muse, you know, I really like it, and I was thirty-one hands, according to the jury. And I didn't realize until they misinterpreted a gesture of mine!

I wondered if I would not have pronounced the fiera name...

Yes, he's hit the nail. For some, Spain is the name of the beast. For others, literature. Rewards are also black beasts for many. As for the national, the animal enjoys a great deal of the traits among the nations.

You know, we can't afford perfect happiness.

Perfection is fascist, says Nietzsche. When does a utopia turn into fascism? When, on the pretext of achieving happiness, he begins to clean up those who disagree with his model of happiness.

I mean, you have to lift the powders from the house, simplify them, be when they are?

Knowing and treating powders, even from home, are a source of allergies.

Quiet, the land equals us all.

You reminded me of the Egalité of the French Revolution. Under the earth, we the whole man, the worms that are going to enjoy us, the fraternity that is as it is, and I liberated it, which is the eternal peace of a dead man.

But in the meantime, it was best to be in the noble company.

Yes, you have said well: in the meantime. And in the company. Preferably, in nobility.

And just in case, fill up and fill the notebook with the dry.

Of course, in the sense that the sailors give to the land. You will know that the earth is firm. And for me, it's the land that the world has given me.

So you see the story of a loyalty.

I don't like to sacrifice anything. Not even literature. But I am faithful to him. How much, you'll have to ask my wife.

After so many years, do you have a Lertxundi hangover?

If years and fatigue are added to the desire to continue giving war, and if someone calls hangover, they are entitled to it.

While the adventure lasts...

Art wants to win battles over time. And art, in Basque, there's also time. Whoa sifo, hey.

Before leaving: What does the measure of the world look like today?

How do you want me to measure it in half a reed or metro, in euros or dollars, writing a story or a little poetry?