We accept reality so readily - perhaps because we sense that nothing is real.

Music, feelings of happiness, mythology, faces worn by time, certain twilights and certain places, want to tell us something, or they told us something that we should not have missed, or they are about to tell us something; this imminence of a revelation that is not produced is, perhaps, the esthetic event.

If I were asked to name the chief event in my life, I should say my father's library.

A writer - and, I believe, generally all persons - must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource.

Art is very mysterious. I wonder if you can really do any damage to art. I think that when we're writing, something comes through or should come through, in spite of our theories. So theories are not really important.

All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.

My advanced age has taught me the resignation of being Borges.