The Novel Is A Meditation On Existence

There Is A Secret Bond Between Slowness And Memory, Between Speed And Forgetting.

But Which Was The Real Me? Let Me Be Perfectly Honest: I Was A Man Of Many Faces. (p.33)

We All Reject Out Of Hand The Idea That The Love Of Our Life May Be Something Light Or Weightless; We Presume Our Love Is What Must Be, That Without It Our Life Would No Longer Be The Same; We Feel That Beethoven Himself, Gloomy And Awe-inspiring, Is Playing The “es Muss Sein!” To Our Own Great Love.

A Man Possessed With Peace Is Always Smiling

In The Realm Of Totalitarian Kitsch, All Answers Are Given In Advance And Preclude Any Questions.