How Well I Would Write If I

One Reads Alone, Even In Another's Presence.

It Is Not The Voice That Commands The Story: It Is The Ear.

It Is Only After You Have Come To Know The Surface Of Things ... That You Can Venture To Seek What Is Underneath. But The Surface Of Things Is Inexhaustible.

You Have With You The Book You Were Reading In The Cafe, Which You Are Eager To Continue, So That You Can Then Hand It On To Her, To Communicate Again With Her Through The Channel Dug By Others' Words, Which, As They Are Uttered By An Alien Voice, By The Voice Of That Silent Nobody Made Of Ink And Typographical Spacing, Can Become Yours And Hers, A Language, A Code Between The Two Of You, A Means To Exchange Signals And Recognize Each Other.

Everything Can Change, But Not The Language That We Carry Inside Us, Like A World More Exclusive And Final Than One's Mother's Womb.