Novelists Tell That Piece Of Truth Hidden

Something Must Always Remain That Eludes Us ... For Power To Have An Object On Which It Can Be Exercised, A Space In Which To Stretch Out Its Arms ... As Long As I Know There Exists In The World Someone Who Does Tricks Only For The Love Of The Trick, As Long As I Know There Is A Woman Who Loves Reading For Reading's Sake, I Can Convince Myself That The World Continues ... And Every Evening I, Too, Abandon Myself To Reading, Like That Distant Unknown Woman.

Cities, Like Dreams, Are Made Of Desires And Fears, Even If The Thread Of Their Discourse Is Secret, Their Rules Are Absurd, Their Perspectives Deceitful, And Everything Conceals Something Else.

The Sea Where Living Creatures Were At One Time Immersed Is Now Enclosed Within Their Bodies.

New York Is Perhaps The Only Place In America Where You Feel At The Centre And Not At The Margins, In The Provinces, So For That Reason I Prefer Its Horror To This Privileged Beauty, Its Enslavement To The Freedoms Which Remain Local And Privileged And Very Particularized, And Which Do Not Represent A Genuine Antithesis.

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