Love does not just sit there, like a stone; it had to be made, like br >>
If science fiction is the mythology of modern technology, then its myt >>
The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp >>
As far as modern writing is concerned, it is rarely rewarding to trans >>
Nor ought a genius less than his that writ attempt translation. >>
Translation is entirely mysterious. Increasingly I have felt that the >>
Translation is entirely mysterious. Increasingly I have felt that the art of writing is itself translating, or more like translating than it is like anything else. What is the other text, the original? I have no answer. I suppose it is the source, the deep sea where ideas swim, and one catches them in nets of words and swings them shining into the boat... where in this metaphor they die and get canned and eaten in sandwiches.