My Confidence In The Future Of Literature

Memory Is Redundant: It Repeats Signs So That The City Can Begin To Exist.

A Classic Is A Book That Has Never Finished Saying What It Has To Say.

Each New Clarice, Compact As A Living Body With Its Smells And Its Breath, Shows Off, Like A Gem, What Remains Of The Ancient Clarices, Fragmentary And Dead.

I Will Start Out This Evening With An Assertion: Fantasy Is A Place Where It Rains.

Each Sort Of Cheese Reveals A Pasture Of A Different Green, Under A Different Sky.