The thought came over me that never would one full and absolute moment, containing all the others, justify my life, that all of my instants would be provisional phases, annihilators of the past turned to face the future, and that beyond the episodic, the present, the circumstantial, we were nobody.

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world? The voice of Macedonio Fernandez, the image of a bay horse in a vacant lot on the corner of Sarrano and Charcas, a bar of sulfur in the drawer of a mahogany desk?

I believe that in time we will have reached the point where we will deserve to be free of government.

If space is infinite, we may be at any point in space. If time is infinite, we may be at any point in time.

Time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures.

Reading is an activity subsequent to writing: more resigned, more civil, more intellectual.

Nothing is built on stone; all is built on sand, but we must build as if the sand were stone.