There are moments in life when it is all turned inside out--what is real becomes unreal, what is unreal becomes tangible, and all your levelheaded efforts to keep a tight ontological control are rendered silly and indulgent.

You have to suspend thinking in narratives. The moment you are conscious of yourself the gap opens up. And in this gap, stories are generated.

The more you lose, the more is to be lost, yet it matters less.

If you can't go home, there is nowhere to go, and nowhere is the biggest place in the world-indeed, nowhere is the world.

I don't believe in inspiration. I write when I can't avoid writing anymore.

Time does nothing but hand you down shabbier and older things.

I don't think that everyone should have a philosophical answer to any given question. There are things that need to be done.