Memories Images, Once They Are Fixed In

There Is No Language Without Deceit.

It Is Within You That The Ghosts Acquire Voices.

The Satirist Is Prevented By Repulsion From Gaining A Better Knowledge Of The World He Is Attracted To, Yet He Is Forced By Attraction To Concern Himself With The World That Repels Him.

The City, However, Does Not Tell Its Past, But Contains It Like The Lines Of A Hand, Written In The Corners Of The Streets, The Gratings Of The Windows, The Banisters Of The Steps, The Antennae Of The Lightning Rods, The Poles Of The Flags, Every Segment Marked In Turn With Scratches, Indentations, Scrolls.

There Is Nothing For It But For All Of Us To Invent Our Own Ideal Libraries Of Classics. I Would Say That Such A Library Ought To Be Composed Half Of Books We Have Read And That Have Really Counted For Us, And Half Of Books We Propose To Read And Presume Will Come To Count—leaving A Section Of Empty Shelves For Surprises And Occasional Discoveries