Why one writes is a question I can answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me - the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.

The unconscious can become destructive if it is disregarded and thwarted.

I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

If you can't create, you destroy.

I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have shared my kingdom with you.

Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.

Good things happen to those who hustle.