Now, The Old Man Happened To Be

Cities, Like Dreams, Are Made Of Desires And Fears.

A Writer's Work Has To Take Account Of Many Rhythms: Vulcan's And Mercury's, A Message Of Urgency Obtained By Dint Of Patient And Meticulous Adjustments And An Intuition So Instantaneous That, When Formulated, It Acquires The Finality Of Something That Could Never Have Been Otherwise. But It Is Also The Rhythm Of Time That Passes With No Other Aim Than To Let Feelings And Thoughts Settle Down, Mature, And Shed All Impatience Or Ephemeral Contingency.

Work Stops At Sunset. Darkness Falls Over The Building Site. The Sky Is Filled With Stars. "there Is The Blueprint," They Say.

There Is No Language Without Deceit.

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.