What does culture want? To make infinity comprehensible.

The monkish vows keep us far from that sink of vice that is the female body, but often they bring us close to other errors. Can I finally hide from myself the fact that even today my old age is still stirred by the noonday demon when my eyes, in choir, happen to linger on the beardless face of a novice, pure and fresh as a maidens?

There is a constant in the average American imagination and taste, for which the past must be preserved and celebrated in full-scale authentic copy; a philosophy of immortality as duplication. It dominates the relation with the self, with the past, not infrequently with the present, always with History and, even, with the European tradition.

The author should die once he has finished writing. So as not to trouble the path of the text.

There is only one thing that you write for yourself, and that is a shopping list.

It takes a little time, but the pleasures of cooking begin before the pleasures of the palate, and preparing means anticipating.

Is it possible to say "It was a beautiful morning at the end of November" without feeling like Snoopy?