Status Updates From Faces in the Crowd

Not sure I like this book...

I've never been able to say the things I think in the tone I imagine before uttering them.

Frederico's second-greatest virtue was that he always got excited when he grasped a new idea. But then straightaway he'd be filled with disillusion: that was his greatest virtue.

Laura and Enea took me, they didn't ask questions; they're the kind of people who know how to respect others, not to ask explanations.

Leave a life. Blow everything up. No, not everything: blow up the square meter you occupy among people. Or better still: leave empty chairs at the tables you once shared with friends, not metaphorically, but really, leave a chair, become a gap for your friends, allow the circle of silence around you to swell and fill with speculation. What few people understand is that you leave one life to start another.

If you really want to get under a person's skin, make an accusation about their moral hygiene.

I knew it wasn't a good idea to place the least trust in household objects; as soon as we became accustomed to the silent presence of a thing, it gets broken or disappears.

People die, irresponsibly leave a ghost of themselves hanging around, and then they, the original and the ghost, go on living, each in his own right.

I was leading an imbecilic life, but I liked it. I kept an almost metaphysical distance from things and people, but I liked it. I felt almost ghostly, and I liked that most of all.

Leave a life. Blow everything up. No, not everything: blow up the square meter you occupy among people. Or better still: leave empty chairs at the tables you once shared with friends, not metaphorically, but really, leave a chair, become a gap for your friends, allow the circle of silence around you to swell and fill with speculation. What few people understand is that you leave once life to start another.

loving it. 'I saw William Carlos Williams beside me, wearing enormous glasses, inspecting the vagina of a miniature woman lying on a napkin on the bar.. the poet Zvorsky conducting an imaginary orchestra; Ezra Pound hanging in a cage in the corner and Garcia Lorca tossing him peanuts, which he accepted gleefully.

There are people who are capable of recounting their lives as a sequence of events that lead to a destiny. If you give them a pen, they write you a horribly boring novel in which each sentence is there for an ultimate reason: everything links up, there are no loose ends.

"behoove" --> behoover (i.e. vacuum)

and really rather interesting poetry