I would define the baroque as that style that deliberately exhausts (or tries to exhaust) its own possibilities, and that borders on self-caricature. The baroque is the final stage in all art, when art flaunts and squanders its resources.

There are those who seek the love of a woman to forget her, to not think about her.

In all fiction, when a man is faced with alternatives he chooses one at the expense of others.

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

I saw a sunset in Queretaro that seemed to reflect the color of a rose in Bengal.

As to my writing short pieces, there are two reasons I can give you. The first is my invincible laziness. The second is that I've always been fond of short stories, and it always took me some trouble to get through a novel.

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.