“I love Stendhal above all because only in him are individual moral tension, historical tension, life force a single thing, a linear novelistic tension. I love Pushkin because he is clarity, irony, and seriousness. I love Hemingway because he is matter-of-fact, understated, will to happiness, sadness. I love Stevenson because he seems to fly. I love Chekhov because he doesn’t go farther than where he’s going. I love Conrad because he navigates the abyss and doesn’t sink into it. I love Tolstoy because at times I seem to be about to understand how he does it and then I don’t. I love Manzoni because until a little while ago I hated him. I love Chesterton because he wanted to be the Catholic Voltaire and I wanted to be the Communist Chesterton. I love Flaubert because after him it’s unthinkable to do what he did. I love the Poe of ‘The Gold Bug.’ I love the Twain of Huckleberry Finn. I love the Kipling of The Jungle Books. I love Nievo because I’ve reread him many times with as much pleasure as the first time. I love Jane Austen because I never read her but I’m glad she exists. I love Gogol because he distorts with clarity, meanness, and moderation. I love Dostoevsky because he distorts with consistency, fury, and lack of moderation. I love Balzac because he’s a visionary. I love Kafka because he’s a realist. I love Maupassant because he’s superficial. I love Mansfield because she’s intelligent. I love Fitzgerald because he’s unsatisfied. I love Radiguet because we’ll never be young again. I love Svevo because we have to grow old. I love . . .”