Alone In My Room, Wrapped In A

To Walk Into A Modern-day Bookstore Is A Little Bit Like Studying A Single Photograph Out Of The Infinite Number Of Photographs That Cold Be Taken Of The World: It Offers The Reader A Frame.

There Are Moments When A Kind Of Clarity Comes Over You, And Suddenly You Can See Through Walls To Another Dimension That You'd Forgotten Or Chosen To Ignore In Order To Continue Living With The Various Illusions That Make Life, Particularily Life With Other People, Possible.

When At Last I Came Upon The Right Book, The Feeling Was Violent: It Blew Open A Hole In Me That Made Life More Dangerous Because I Couldn't Control What Came Through It.

How Was It Possible To Wake Up Every Day And Be Recognizable To Another When So Often One Was Barely Recognizable To Oneself?

To Touch And Feel Each Thing In The World, To Know It By Sight And By Name, And Then To Know It With Your Eyes Closed So That When Something Is Gone, It Can Be Recognized By The Shape Of Its Absence. So That You Can Continue To Possess The Lost, Because Absence Is The Only Constant Thing. Because You Can Get Free Of Everything Except The Space Where Things Have Been.