It Is Only After You Have Come

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.

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.

...life Is Nothing But Trading Smells.

You Know That The Best You Can Expect Is To Avoid The Worst.

Who Are We, Who Is Each One Of Us, If Not A Combinatoria Of Experiences, Information, Books We Have Read, Things Imagined?