My books standing there on the shelf do not know that I have written them.

We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.

I gazed at every mirror on the planet, not one gave back my reflection.

In the order of literature, as in others, there is no act that is not the coronation of an infinite series of causes and the source of an infinite series of effects.

Two aesthetics exist: the passive aesthetic of mirrors and the active aesthetic of prisms. Guided by the former, art turns into a copy of the environment's objectivity or the individual's psychic history. Guided by the latter, art is redeemed, makes the world into its instrument, and forges, beyond spatial and temporal prisons, a personal vision.

If a writer disbelieves what he is writing, then he can hardly expect his reader to believe it.

The Falklands thing was a fight between two bald men over a comb.