Time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures.
We accept reality so readily - perhaps because we sense that nothing is real.
Every man should be capable of all ideas.
Every novel is an ideal plane inserted into the realm of reality.
Writing long books is a laborious and impoverishing act of foolishness: expanding in five hundred pages an idea that could be perfectly explained in a few minutes. A better procedure is to pretend that those books already exist and to offer a summary, a commentary.
The European and the North American consider that a book that has been awarded any kind of prize must be good; the Argentine allows for the possibility that the book might not be bad, despite the prize.