? So when I borrowed ? Aphorisms on the Wisdom of Life? from the municipal library of the seventh arrondissement in Paris (more specifically, its annex in the Latour-Maubourg district), I may have been aged twenty-six, but equally possibly twenty-five, or twenty-seven. In any case, this is very late in life for such a major discovery. At the time, I already knew Baudelaire, Dostoevsky, Lautreamont, Verlaine, almost all the Romantics; a lot of science fiction, too. I had read the Bible, Pascal? s Pensees, Clifford D. Simak? s City, Thomas Mann? s The Magic Mountain. I wrote poems; I already had the impression I was rereading, rather than really reading; I thought I had at least completed one period in my discovery of literature. ?
? And then, in a few minutes, everything dramatically changed. ?