…we can not love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes along its own trajectory and immediately disappears.

There is no language without deceit.

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

A writer's work has to take account of many rhythms: Vulcan's and Mercury's, a message of urgency obtained by dint of patient and meticulous adjustments and an intuition so instantaneous that, when formulated, it acquires the finality of something that could never have been otherwise. But it is also the rhythm of time that passes with no other aim than to let feelings and thoughts settle down, mature, and shed all impatience or ephemeral contingency.

A classic is the term given to any book which comes to represent the whole universe, a book on a par with ancient talismans.

Whether there is such a thing as Reality, of which the various levels are only partial aspects, or whether there are only levels, is something that literature cannot decide. Literature recognizes rather the *reality of the levels.*

I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!