The people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping...something runs among them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene.

What harbor can receive you more securely than a great library?

I have tried to remove weight, sometimes from people, sometimes from heavenly bodies, sometimes from cities; above all I have tried to remove weight from the structure of stories and from language.

It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices.

Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combinatoria of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined?

Today each of you is the object of the other’s reading, one reads in the other the unwritten story.

The sea where living creatures were at one time immersed is now enclosed within their bodies.