At Times The Mirror Increases

Each New Clarice, Compact As A Living Body With Its Smells And Its Breath, Shows Off, Like A Gem, What Remains Of The Ancient Clarices, Fragmentary And Dead.

Elsewhere Is A Negative Mirror. The Traveler Recognizes The Little That Is His, Discovering The Much He Has Not Had And Will Never Have.

Perhaps Everything Lies In Knowing What Words To Speak, What Actions To Perform, And In What Order And Rhythm; Or Else Someone's Gaze, Answer, Gesture Is Enough; It Is Enough For Someone To Do Something For The Sheer Pleasure Of Doing It, And For His Pleasure To Become The Pleasure Of Others: At That Moment, All Spaces Change, All Heights, Distances; The City Is Transfigured, Becomes Crystalline, Transparent As A Dragonfly.

Memory Really Matters...only If It Binds Together The Imprint Of The Past And The Project Of The Future, If It Enables Us To Act Without Forgetting What We Wanted To Do, To Become Without Ceasing To Be, And To Be Without Ceasing To Become.

One Reads Alone, Even In Another's Presence.