Sunday has left them with a taste of ashes and their thoughts are already turning towards Monday. But for me there is neither Monday nor Sunday: there are days which pass in disorder, and then, sudden lightning like this one.

Nothing has changed and yet everything is different. I can't describe it; it's like the Nausea and yet it's just the opposite: at last an adventure happens to me and when I question myself I see that it happens that I am myself and that I am here; I am the one who splits the night, I am as happy as the hero of a novel.

Hiçbir şey değişmedi, ama yine de her şey başka bir biçimde var olup gidiyor. Anlatamıyorum. Bulantıya benziyor bu, ama aynı zamanda onun tam tersi.

There’s the story of a person who does this, does that, but it isn’t I, I have nothing in common with him. He travels through countries I know no more about than if I had never been there. Sometimes, in my story, it happens that I pronounce these fine names you read in atlases, Aranjuez or Canterbury. New images are born in me, images such as people create from books who have never travelled. My words are dreams, that is all.

Algo comienza para terminar; la aventura no admite añadiduras; sólo cobra sentido con su muerte. Hacia esta muerte, que acaso sea también la mía, me veo arrastrado irreversiblemente. Cada instante aparece para traer los siguientes. Me aferro a cada instante con toda el alma; sé que es único, irreemplazable, y, sin embargo, no movería un dedo para impedir su aniquilación.

Pero en el seno mismo de ese éxtasis, acababa de aparecer algo nuevo: yo comprendía la Náusea, la poesía.

Al final del artículo sobre la leyenda urbana se cuestionaba el sentido de la silla porque, por mucho que uno viaje en el tiempo, en el presente no cambia nada.
«El alma lo es todo. Por muy duro que sea el presente y por mucho que este no cambie, si el alma se transforma, todo podrá superarse. Ese es sin duda el verdadero sentido de la silla», pensaba Kazu.

Everything alters me, but nothing changes me

Algunos hombres ven las cosas como son, y dicen: «¿Por qué?» Yo sueño con cosas que nunca fueron, y me pregunto: «¿Por qué no?»

I had gone to no such place but to the smoke of cafes and nights when the room whirled and you needed to look at the wall to make it stop, nights in bed, drunk, when you knew that that was all there was, and the strange excitement of waking and not knowing who it was with you, and the world all unreal in the dark and so exciting that you must resume again unknowing and not caring in the night, sure that this was all and all and all and not caring.

You know, the way I feel, if I read a science fiction book by a new writer which is a lot better than what I do, instead of going on a bummer right away and saying, “Oh Christ, I’m obsolete, I’m outdated, I’ve lost it.” I have this tremendous sense of joy. I don’t have to write all the great goddamn science fiction in the world. Somebody else is going to carry this torch. It’s such a relief to sit with my feet up on the wall and to know that if I never wrote another book science fiction is going ahead.

" علي عكس ما يحدث في الأفلام، فإن اشارة النهاية" لا تومض في نهاية الكتاب، فعندما أقرأ كتاباً، لا أشعر بأنني أنهيت أي شيء. لذلك فأنا أبدأ كتاباً جديداً

Everything has changed but nothing has changed.

Sī lo guía sin cesar el juicio del autor, no hace otra cosa que ver por ojos ajenos, y si estos le faltan no ve nada.

You see, unlike in the movies, there is no THE END sign flashing at the end of books. When I've read a book, I don't feel like I've finished anything. So I start a new one.