I wonder if I have woven through dreams the sexual strife. I don't think so. But after all, my business is to weave dreams. I suppose I may be allowed to choose the material.

To arrange a library is to practice in a quiet and modest way the art of criticism.

I have always come to life after coming to books.

Then I reflect that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to me.

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.

There is an hour of the afternoon when the plain is on the verge of saying something. It never says, or perhaps it says it infinitely, or perhaps we do not understand it, or we understand it and it is untranslatable as music.

We have a very precise image - an image at times shameless - of what we have lost, but we are ignorant of what may follow or replace it.