So he left the lagoon and entered the jungle again, within a few days was completely lost, following the lagoons southward through the increasing rain and heat, attacked by alligators and giant bats, a second Adam searching for the forgotten paradises of the reborn Sun.

Yes, sometimes I think that all my writing is nothing more than the compensatory work of a frustrated painter.

A widespread taste for pornography means that nature is alerting us to some threat of extinction.

In the post-Warhol era a single gesture such as uncrossing one's legs will have more significance than all the pages in War and Peace.

Art exists because reality is neither real nor significant.

Sooner or later, everything turns into television.

Science and technology multiply around us. To an increasing extent they dictate the languages in which we speak and think. Either we use those languages, or we remain mute.