Very Often The Effort Men Put Into

So You Begin To Wonder If Leonia's True Passion Is Really, As They Say, The Enjoyment Of New And Different Things, And Not, Instead, The Joy Of Expelling, Discarding, Cleansing Itself Of A Recurrent Impurity.

The City Of Cats And The City Of Men Exist One Inside The Other, But They Are Not The Same City.

You Are About To Begin Reading Italo Calvino's New Novel, If On A Winter's Night A Traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel Every Other Thought. Let The World Around You Fade. Best To Close The Door; The Tv Is Always On In The Next Room. Tell The Others Right Away, "no, I Don't Want To Watch Tv!" Raise Your Voice -- They Won't Hear You Otherwise -- "i'm Reading! I Don't Want To Be Disturbed!" Maybe They Haven't Heard You, With All That Racket; Speak Louder, Yell: "i'm Beginning To Read Italo Calvino's New Novel!" Or If You Prefer, Don't Say Anything: Just Hope They'll Leave You Alone.

When I'm Writing A Book I Prefer Not To Speak About It, Because Only When The Book Is Finished Can I Try To Understand What I've Really Done And To Compare My Intentions With The Result.

Every New Book I Read Comes To Be A Part Of That Overall And Unitary Book That Is The Sum Of My Readings...if You Need Little To Set The Imagination Going, I Require Even Less: The Promise Of Reading Is Enough.