Talent Is A Long Patience.

It Is Always Sad To Leave A Place To Which One Knows One Will Never Return.

Prose Is Like Hair; It Shines With Combing.

I Hate That Which We Have Decided To Call Realism, Even Though I Have Been Made One Of Its High Priests.

I Love My Work With A Frenetic And Perverse Love, As An Ascetic Loves The Hair Shirt Which Scratches His Belly.

Sentences Must Stir In A Book Like Leaves In A Forest, Each Distinct From Each Despite Their Resemblance.