Memories Images, Once They Are

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.

Don't Ask Where The Rest Of This Book Is!" It Is A Shrill Cry That Comes From An Undefined Spot Among The Shelves. "all Books Continue In The Beyond.

Memory Is Redundant: It Repeats Signs So That The City Can Begin To Exist.

You Have With You The Book You Were Reading In The Cafe, Which You Are Eager To Continue, So That You Can Then Hand It On To Her, To Communicate Again With Her Through The Channel Dug By Others' Words, Which, As They Are Uttered By An Alien Voice, By The Voice Of That Silent Nobody Made Of Ink And Typographical Spacing, Can Become Yours And Hers, A Language, A Code Between The Two Of You, A Means To Exchange Signals And Recognize Each Other.

There Is Still One Of Which You Never Speak.' Marco Polo Bowed His Head. 'venice,' The Khan Said. Marco Smiled. 'what Else Do You Believe I Have Been Talking To You About?' The Emperor Did Not Turn A Hair. 'and Yet I Have Never Heard You Mention That Name.' And Polo Said: 'every Time I Describe A City I Am Saying Something About Venice.