In Love, As In Gluttony, Pleasure Is

I Will Start Out This Evening With An Assertion: Fantasy Is A Place Where It Rains.

The Line Between The Reality That Is Photographed Because It Seems Beautiful To Us And The Reality That Seems Beautiful Because It Has Been Photographed Is Very Narrow.

I Could Distinguish The Shape Of Her Bosom, Her Arms, Her Thighs, Just As I Remember Them Now, Just As Now, When The Moon Has Become That Flat, Remote Circle, I Still Look For Her As Soon As The First Sliver Appears In The Sky, And The More It Waxes, The More Clearly I Imagine I Can See Her, Her Or Something Of Her, But Only Her, In A Hundred, A Thousand Different Vistas, She Who Makes The Moon The Moon And, Whenever She Is Full, Sets The Dogs To Howling All Night Long, And Me With Them.

Without Translation, I Would Be Limited To The Borders Of My Own Country. The Translator Is My Most Important Ally. He Introduces Me To The World.

The More One Was Lost In Unfamiliar Quarters Of Distant Cities, The More One Understood The Other Cities He Had Crossed To Arrive There.