Who Am I? If This

I Insist On Knowing The Names, On Being Interested Only In Books Left Ajar, Like Doors; I Will Not Go Looking For Keys.

Keep Reminding Yourself That Literature Is One Of The Saddest Roads That Leads To Everything.

The Imaginary Is What Tends To Become Real.

Psychic Automatism In Its Pure State, By Which One Proposes To Express - Verbally, By Means Of The Written Word, Or In Any Other Manner - The Actual Functioning Of Thought. Dictated By The Thought, In The Absence Of Any Control Exercised By Reason, Exempt From Any Aesthetic Or Moral Concern.

It Is Hard Not To See Into The Future, Faced With Today's Blind Architecture - A Thousand Times More Stupid And More Revolting Than That Of Other Ages. How Bored We Shall Be Inside!