In Quoting Others, We Cite Ourselves.

But What Is Memory If Not The Language Of Feeling, A Dictionary Of Faces And Days And Smells Which Repeat Themselves Like The Verbs And Adjectives In A Speech, Sneaking In Behind The Thing Itself,into The Pure Present, Making Us Sad Or Teaching Us Vicariously.

I Realized That Searching Was My Symbol, The Emblem Of Those Who Go Out At Night With Nothing In Mind, The Motives Of A Destroyer Of Compasses.

I Sometimes Longed For Someone Who, Like Me, Had Not Adjusted Perfectly With His Age, And Such A Person Was Hard To Find; But I Soon Discovered Cats, In Which I Could Imagine A Condition Like Mine, And Books, Where I Found It Quite Often.

There Was A Time When I Thought A Great Deal About The Axolotls. I Went To See Them At The Aquarium At The Jardin Des Plantes And Stayed For Hours Watching Them, Observing Their Immobility; Their Faint Movements. Now I Am An Axolotl.

After The Age Of 50 We Begin To Die Little By Little In The Deaths Of Others.