For Only That Which We Knew And

Reminiscences, Even Extensive Ones, Do Not Always Amount To An Autobiography. For Autobiography Has To Do With Time, With Sequence And What Makes Up The Continuous Flow Of Life. Here, I Am Talking Of A Space, Of Moments And Discontinuities. For Even If Months And Years Appear Here, It Is In The Form They Have At The Moment Of Commemoration.

There Was The Pedestrian Who Wedged Himself Into The Crowd, But There Was Also The Flneur Who Demanded Elbow Room And Was Unwilling To Forego The Life Of The Gentleman Of Leisure. His Leisurely Appearance As A Personality Is His Protest Against The Division Of Labour Which Makes People Into Specialists. It Was Also His Protest Against Their Industriousness. Around 1840 It Was Briefly Fashionable To Take Turtles For A Walk In The Arcades. The Flneurs Liked To Have The Turtles Set The Pace For Them.

Nothing Is Poorer Than A Truth Expressed As It Was Thought. Committed To Writing In Such Cases, It Is Not Even A Bad Photograph. Truth Wants To Be Startled Abruptly, At One Stroke, From Her Self-immersion, Whether By Uproar, Music Or Cries For Help.

To A Book Collector, You See, The True Freedom Of All Books Is Somewhere On His Shelves.

It Is In A Small Village In The Pyrenees Where No One Knows Me 7that My Life Will Come To A Close.... There Is Not Enough Time Remaining For Me To Write All The Letters I Would Like To Write.