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

I have never described this to you before, not so much, I don't think, from lack of truthfulness as that, just naturally, one is not going to explain to people at large that from time to time one vomits up a small rabbit.

Once in a while it happens that I vomit up a bunny... it's not reason for one to blush and isolate oneself and to walk around keeping one's mouth shut.

La Maga did not know that my kisses were like eyes which began to open up beyond her, and that I went along outside as if I saw a different concept of the world, the dizzy pilot of a black prow which cut the water of time and negated it.

All profound distraction opens certain doors. You have to allow yourself to be distracted when you are unable to concentrate.

The mysterious does not spell itself out in capital letters, as many writers believe, but is always between, an interstice.

I think it is vanity to want to put into a story anything but the story itself.