They courted the face on the screen, the face of translucence, the face of wax on which men found it possible to imprint the image of their fantasy.

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer.

It is easy to love and there are so many ways to do it.

One always, sooner or later, comes upon a city which is an image of one's inner cities. Fez is an image of my inner self. ... The layers of the city of Fez are like the layers and secrecies of the inner life. One needs a guide. ... There were in Fez, as in my life, streets which led nowhere, impasses which remained a mystery.

Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me. I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

My first vision of earth was water veiled. I am of the race of men and women who see all things through this curtain of sea and my eyes are the color of water.

I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.