Now, The Old Man Happened To Be

Each New Clarice, Compact As A Living Body With Its Smells And Its Breath, Shows Off, Like A Gem, What Remains Of The Ancient Clarices, Fragmentary And Dead.

Myth Is The Hidden Part Of Every Story, The Buried Part, The Region That Is Still Unexplored Because There Are As Yet No Words To Enable Us To Get There. Myth Is Nourished By Silence As Well As By Words.

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 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.

In General Confusion Youth Recognizes Itself And Rejoices.