I seek the real stuff of life. Profound drama.

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

It's all right for a woman to be, above all, human. I am a woman first of all.

Then at certain moments I remember one of his words and I suddenly feel the sensual woman flaring up, as if violently caressed. I say the word to myself, with joy. It is at such a moment that my true body lives.

To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard. If one changes internally one should not continue to live with the same objects. They reflect one's mind and psyche of yesterday. I throw away what has no dynamic, living use.

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer. The dictionary, a new word, a voyage, an encounter, a talk on the street, a book, a phrase learned.

Societies in decline have no use for visionaries.