Time Is Born In The

Of All Our Feelings The Only One Which Really Doesn't Belong To Us Is Hope. Hope Belongs To Life, It's Life Itself Defending Itself. Etcetera.

After The Age Of 50 We Begin To Die Little By Little In The Deaths Of Others.

Literature Is ... A Game, But It's A Game One Can Put One's Life Into.

I Can't Think Of Another Writer Who Can Move Me As Surreptitiously As Vian Does

You're Like A Witness. You're The One Who Goes To The Museum And Looks At The Paintings. I Mean The Paintings Are There And You're In The Museum Too, Near And Far Away At The Same Time. I'm A Painting. Rocamadour Is A Painting. Etienne Is A Painting, This Room Is A Painting. You Think That You're In The Room But You're Not. You're Looking At The Room, You're Not In The Room.