Saturday, March 31, 2012

What Is To Be Done?

We are marching in a compact group along a precipitous and difficult path, firmly holding each other by the hand. We are surrounded on all sides by enemies, and we have to advance almost constantly under their fire. We have combined, by a freely adopted decision, for the purpose of fighting the enemy, and not of retreating into the neighbouring marsh, the inhabitants of which, from the very outset, have reproached us with having separated ourselves into an exclusive group and with having chosen the path of struggle instead of the path of conciliation. And now some among us begin to cry out: Let us go into the marsh! And when we begin to shame them, they retort: What backward people you are! Are you not ashamed to deny us the liberty to invite you to take a better road! Oh, yes, gentlemen! You are free not only to invite us, but to go yourselves wherever you will, even into the marsh. In fact, we think that the marsh is your proper place, and we are prepared to render you every assistance to get there. Only let go of our hands, don’t clutch at us and don’t besmirch the grand word freedom, for we too are “free” to go where we please, free to fight not only against the marsh, but also against those who are turning towards the marsh!
The secret of good old-age is none other than an honest pact with solitude.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012


The University of Santa Teresa was like a cemetery that suddenly begins to think, in vain. It was also like an empty dance club.

Michel Foucault

I don't write a book so that it will be the final word; I write a book so that other books are possible, not necessarily written by me.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

The Idiot

Why is it that when you awake to the world of realities you nearly always feel, sometimes very vividly, that the vanished dream has carried with it some enigma which you have failed to solve?

Monday, March 12, 2012

Italo Calvino

The word connects the visible trace with the invisible thing... Like a frail emergency bridge flung over an abyss.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

On Joyce and writing

I realized that Joyce had gone as far as one could in the direction of knowing more, [being] in control of one’s material. He was always adding to it; you only have to look at his proofs to see that. I realized that my own way was in impoverishment, in lack of knowledge and in taking away, in subtracting rather than in adding.

Sugar Street

It’s a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind.

Monday, March 5, 2012

The writer writes his book to try to explain to himself what’s beyond his comprehension.