Never stop writing because you have run out of ideas. Fill the lacunae of inspiration by tidily copying out what is already written.

Like ultraviolet rays memory shows to each man in the book of life a script that invisibly and prophetically glosses the text.

In every case the storyteller is a man who has counsel for his readers.

Every image of the past that is not recognised by the present as one of its own threatens to disappear irretrievably.

In the world's structure dream loosens individuality like a bad tooth.

Reminiscences, even extensive ones, do not always amount to an autobiography. For autobiography has to do with time, with sequence and what makes up the continuous flow of life. Here, I am talking of a space, of moments and discontinuities. For even if months and years appear here, it is in the form they have at the moment of commemoration.

Less and less frequently do we encounter people with the ability to tell a tale properly. More and more often there is embarrassment all around when the wish to hear a story is expressed. It is as if something that seemed inalienable to us, the securest among our possessions, were taken from us: the ability to exchange our experiences...Experience has fallen in value. And it looks as if it is continuing to fall into bottomlessness.