God, He Whom Everyone Knows, By Name.

The Story I Am Writing Exists, Written In Absolutely Perfect Fashion, Some Place, In The Air. All I Must Do Is Find It, And Copy It.

Those Moments When You Feel You Want To Read Something Truly Beautiful. The Eyes Make A Tour Of The Library, And There Is Nothing. Then You Decide To Take No Matter What, And It Is Full Of Beautiful Things.

The Void Yields Up Nothing. You Have To Be A Great Poet To Make It Ring.

Life Is What Our Character Makes It. We Fashion It, As A Snail Does Its Shell. A Man Can Say: I Never Made A Fortune Because It Is Not In My Character To Be Rich.

How Describe The Delicate Thing That Happens When A Brilliant Insect Alights On A Flower? Words, With Their Weight, Fall Upon The Picture Like Birds Of Prey.