Leaving behind the babble of the plaza, I enter the Library. I feel, almost physically, the gravitation of the books, the enveloping serenity of order, time magically dessicated and preserved.
Any life is made up of a single moment, the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is.
My undertaking is not difficult, essentially. I should only have to be immortal to carry it out.
The original is unfaithful to the translation.
Democracy is an abuse of statistics.
Reading is an activity subsequent to writing: more resigned, more civil, more intellectual.
