The Word Connects The Visible Trace With

You're The Sort Of Person Who, On Principle, No Longer Expects Anything Of Anything. There Are Plenty, Younger Than You Or Less Young, Who Live In The Expectation Of Extraordinary Experiences: From Books, From People, From Journeys, From Events, From What Tomorrow Has In Store. But Not You. You Know That The Best You Can Expect Is To Avoid The Worst.

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.

Whether There Is Such A Thing As Reality, Of Which The Various Levels Are Only Partial Aspects, Or Whether There Are Only Levels, Is Something That Literature Cannot Decide. Literature Recognizes Rather The *reality Of The Levels.*

Myth Is The Hidden Part Of Every Story, The Buried Part, The Region That Is Still Unexplored Because There Are As Yet No Words To Enable Us To Get There. Myth Is Nourished By Silence As Well As By Words.

If A Lover Is Wretched Who Invokes Kisses Of Which He Knows Not The Flavor, A Thousand Times More Wretched Is He Who Has Had A Taste Of The Flavor And Then Had It Denied Him.