The Human Race Is A Zone Of

It Was The Hour In Which Objects Lose The Consistency Of Shadow That Accompanies Them During The Night And Gradually Reacquire Colors, But Seem To Cross Meanwhile An Uncertain Limbo, Faintly Touched, Just Breathed On By Light; The Hour In Which One Is Least Certain Of The World's Existence.

My Working Method Has More Often Than Not Involved The Subtraction Of Weight. I Have Tried To Remove Weight, Sometimes From People, Sometimes From Heavenly Bodies, Sometimes From Cities; Above All I Have Tried To Remove Weight From The Structure Of Stories And From Language. . . . Maybe I Was Only Then Becoming Aware Of The Weight, The Inertia, The Opacity Of The World--qualities That Stick To The Writing From The Start, Unless One Finds Some Way Of Evading Them.

A Classic Is A Book Which With Each Rereading Offers As Much Of A Sense Of Discovery As The First Reading.

The Line Between The Reality That Is Photographed Because It Seems Beautiful To Us And The Reality That Seems Beautiful Because It Has Been Photographed Is Very Narrow.

If One Wanted To Depict The Whole Thing Graphically, Every Episode, With Its Climax, Would Require A Three-dimensional, Or, Rather, No Model: Every Experience Is Unrepeatable. What Makes Lovemaking And Reading Resemble Each Other Most Is That Within Both Of Them Times And Spaces Open, Different From Measurable Time And Space.