What good is a writer if he can't destroy literature? And us... what good are we if we don't help as much as we can in that destruction?

Memory weaves and traps us at the same time according to a scheme in which we do not participate: we should never speak of our memory, for it is anything but ours; it works on its own terms, it assists us while deceiving us or perhaps deceives up to assist us.

The fantastic breaks the crust of appearance … something grabs us by the shoulders to throw us outside ourselves. I have always known that the big surprises await us where we have learned to be surprised by nothing, that is, where we are not shocked by ruptures in the order.

Literature is ... a game, but it's a game one can put one's life into.

The novel wins by points, the short story by knockout.

I realized that searching was my symbol, the emblem of those who go out at night with nothing in mind, the motives of a destroyer of compasses.

Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.