Man reckons with immortality, and forgets to reckon with death.

There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting.

Yes, it's a well-known fact about you: you're like death, you take everything.

Suspending moral judgment is not the immorality of the novel; it is its morality.

I find myself fascinating.

The purpose of the poetry is not to dazzle us with an astonishing thought, but to make one moment of existence unforgettable and worthy of unbearable nostalgia.

Is a novel anything but a trap set for a hero?