The wheel turns and turns and turns: it never stops and stands still.

Do you know anyone who would - secretly, sincerely, in his innermost self - really prefer to return to childhood?

...the moon that hung over the garden like some great priceless pearl, flawed and blemished with grey shadowy ridges as only a very great beauty can risk being.

People think that because I write about India I must be trying to portray India in a way.

Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.

Usually a feeling of disappointment follows the book, because what I hoped to write is not what I actually accomplished. However, it becomes a motivation to write the next book.

What a sense of possession, of confidence, it gave one to have pockets, to shove one's fists into them, as if in simply owning pockets one owned riches, owned independence.