Melancholy is sadness that has taken on lightness.
If a lover is wretched who invokes kisses of which he knows not the flavor, a thousand times more wretched is he who has had a taste of the flavor and then had it denied him.
The minute you start saying something, 'Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!' you are already close to view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life. The first course leads to stupidity; the second to madness.
Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.
The city of cats and the city of men exist one inside the other, but they are not the same city.
For the man who thought he was Man there is no salvation.
A classic is a book which with each rereading offers as much of a sense of discovery as the first reading.
Without translation, I would be limited to the borders of my own country. The translator is my most important ally. He introduces me to the world.
There is no language without deceit.
I will start out this evening with an assertion: fantasy is a place where it rains.
Traveling, you realize that differences are lost: each city takes to resembling all cities, places exchange their form, order, distances, a shapeless dust cloud invades the continents.
Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combinatoria of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined?
Every time I must find something to do that will look like something a little beyond my capabilities.
...Life is nothing but trading smells.
To fly is the opposite of traveling: you cross a gap in space, you vanish into the void, you accept not being in a place for a duration that is itself a kind of void in time; then you reappear, in a place and in a moment with no relation to the where and when in which you vanished.
If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance.
Each sort of cheese reveals a pasture of a different green, under a different sky.
The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary.
At times the mirror increases a thing’s value, at times denies it.
Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears.
The novels that attract me most are those that create an illusion of transparency around a knot of human relationships as obscure, cruel, and perverse as possible.
The word connects the visible trace with the invisible thing, the absent thing, the thing that is desired or feared, like a frail emergency bridge flung over an abyss.
The soul is often in the surface, and the importance of 'depth' is overestimated.
Literature remains alive only if we set ourselves immeasurable goals, far beyond all hope of achievement. Only if poets and writers set themselves tasks that no one else dares imagine will literature continue to have a function.
Writing always means hiding something in such a way that it then is discovered.
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