If A Lover Is Wretched Who Invokes

Cities, Like Dreams, Are Made Of Desires And Fears.

The Minute You Start Saying Something, 'ah, How Beautiful! We Must Photograph It!' You Are Already Close To View Of The Person Who Thinks That Everything That Is Not Photographed Is Lost, As If It Had Never Existed, And That Therefore, In Order Really To Live, You Must Photograph As Much As You Can, And To Photograph As Much As You Can You Must Either Live In The Most Photographable Way Possible, Or Else Consider Photographable Every Moment Of Your Life. The First Course Leads To Stupidity; The Second To Madness.

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

Something Must Always Remain That Eludes Us ... For Power To Have An Object On Which It Can Be Exercised, A Space In Which To Stretch Out Its Arms ... As Long As I Know There Exists In The World Someone Who Does Tricks Only For The Love Of The Trick, As Long As I Know There Is A Woman Who Loves Reading For Reading's Sake, I Can Convince Myself That The World Continues ... And Every Evening I, Too, Abandon Myself To Reading, Like That Distant Unknown Woman.

The Unconscious Is The Ocean Of The Unsayable, Of What Has Been Expelled From The Land Of Language, Removed As A Result Of Ancient Prohibitions.