I will start out this evening with an assertion: fantasy is a place where it rains.

Knowledge of the world means dissolving the solidity of the world.

The human race is a zone of living things that should be defined by tracing its confines.

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler.

Every time I must find something to do that will look like something a little beyond my capabilities.

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

It is only after you have come to know the surface of things ... that you can venture to seek what is underneath. But the surface of things is inexhaustible.