In one room there is a large but incomplete collection of books, consisting of novels, poetry, drama. The only exception was a small volume (Belidor, Travaux: Le Moulin Perse, Paris, 1737), which I found on a greenmarble shelf and promptly tucked away into a pocket of these now threadbare trousers. I wanted to read it because I was intrigued by the name Belidor, and I wondered whether the Moulin Perse would help me understand the mill I saw in the lowlands of this island. I examined the shelves in vain, hoping to find some books that would be useful for a research project I began before the trial. (I believe we lose immortality because we have not conquered our opposition to death; we keep insisting on the primary, rudimentary idea: that the whole body should be kept alive. We should seek to preserve only the part that has to do with consciousness.)
Adolfo Bioy Casares, The Invention of Morel.