Knowledge Of The World Means Dissolving The

Fantasy Is Like Jam. . . . You Have To Spread It On A Solid Piece Of Bread. If Not, It Remains A Shapeless Thing . . . Out Of Which You Can’t Make Anything.

The City, However, Does Not Tell Its Past, But Contains It Like The Lines Of A Hand

Though I Leave The House As Little As Possible, I Have The Impression That Someone Is Disturbing My Papers. More Than Once I Have Discovered That Some Pages Were Missing From My Manuscripts. A Few Days Afterward I Would Find The Pages In Their Place Again. But Often I No Longer Recognize My Manuscripts, As If I Had Forgotten What I Had Written, Or As If Overnight I Were So Changed That No Longer Recognized Myself In The Self Of Yesterday.

The City Of Cats And The City Of Men Exist One Inside The Other, But They Are Not The Same City.

Everything Has Already Begun Before, The First Line Of The First Page Of Every Novel Refers To Something That Has Already Happened Outside The Book.