Without Translation, I Would Be

It Is Only Through The Confining Act Of Writing That The Immensity Of The Nonwritten Becomes Legible

...life Is Nothing But Trading Smells.

For The Man Who Thought He Was Man There Is No Salvation.

Who Are We, Who Is Each One Of Us, If Not A Combinatoria Of Experiences, Information, Books We Have Read, Things Imagined?

What About Books? Well, Precisely Because You Have Denied It In Every Other Field, You Believe You May Still Grant Yourself Legitimately This Youthful Pleasure Of Expectation In A Carefully Circumscribed Area Like The Field Of Books, Where You Can Be Lucky Or Unlucky, But The Risk Of Disappointment Isn't Serious.