Books hold no passports. There's only one true literary tradition: the human.

Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.

that as long as we are being remembered, we remain alive.

As I walked, I ran my fingers along the spines of hundreds of books. I let myself be imbued with the smell, with the light that filtered through the cracks or from the glass lanterns embedded in the wooden structure, floating among mirrors and shadows.

-Do you think it's dirty money? -All money is dirty. If it were clean nobody would want it.

He lost himself in the words and images conjured in his mind and for a while forgot ... He found himself flying among stars and planets.

I can't die yet, doctor. Not yet. I have things to do. Afterwords I'll have a whole lifetime in which to die.