Now, The Old Man Happened To Be

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

The Universe Is The Mirror In Which We Can Contemplate Only What We Have Learned To Know In Ourselves

The Ultimate Meaning To Which All Stories Refer Has Two Faces: The Continuity Of Life, The Inevitability Of Death.

Memories Images, Once They Are Fixed In Words, Are Erased.

The City, However, Does Not Tell Its Past, But Contains It Like The Lines Of A Hand, Written In The Corners Of The Streets, The Gratings Of The Windows, The Banisters Of The Steps, The Antennae Of The Lightning Rods, The Poles Of The Flags, Every Segment Marked In Turn With Scratches, Indentations, Scrolls.