I Realized That Searching Was

Only By Living Absurdly Is It Possible To Break Out Of This Infinite Absurdity.

But What Is Memory If Not The Language Of Feeling, A Dictionary Of Faces And Days And Smells Which Repeat Themselves Like The Verbs And Adjectives In A Speech, Sneaking In Behind The Thing Itself,into The Pure Present, Making Us Sad Or Teaching Us Vicariously.

The Novel Wins By Points, The Short Story By Knockout.

I Think It Is Vanity To Want To Put Into A Story Anything But The Story Itself.

I'm Such A Jerk; It Had Never Occurred To Me That When We Look At A Photo From The Front, The Eyes Reproduce Exactly The Position And The Vision Of The Lens; It's These Things That Are Taken For Granted And It Never Occurs To Anyone To Think About Them.