The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand

Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.

Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say.

The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts.

...Life is nothing but trading smells.

You walk for days among trees and among stones. Rarely does the eye light on a thing, and then only when it has recognized that thing as the sign of another thing: a print in the sand indicates the tiger's passage; a marsh announces a vein of water; the hibiscus flower, the end of winter. All the rest is silent and interchangeable; trees and stones are only what they are.

If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance.