In Love, As In Gluttony, Pleasure Is

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

I Could Distinguish The Shape Of Her Bosom, Her Arms, Her Thighs, Just As I Remember Them Now, Just As Now, When The Moon Has Become That Flat, Remote Circle, I Still Look For Her As Soon As The First Sliver Appears In The Sky, And The More It Waxes, The More Clearly I Imagine I Can See Her, Her Or Something Of Her, But Only Her, In A Hundred, A Thousand Different Vistas, She Who Makes The Moon The Moon And, Whenever She Is Full, Sets The Dogs To Howling All Night Long, And Me With Them.

Your House, Being The Place In Which You Read, Can Tell Us The Position Books Occupy In Your Life, If They Are A Defense You Set Up To Keep The Outside World At A Distance, If They Area Dream Into Which You Sink As If Into A Drug, Or Bridges You Cast Toward The Outside, Toward The World That Interests You So Much That You Want To Multiply And Extend Its Dimensions Through Books.

Renouncing Things Is Less Difficult Than People Believe: It's All A Matter Of Getting Started. Once You've Succeeded In Dispensing With Something You Thought Essential, You Realize You Can Also Do Without Something Else, Then Without Many Other Things.

Falsehood Is Never In Words; It Is In Things.