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

I aim to tell the truth about any subject, not a romance or fantasy, not avoid the truth.

Isn't it strange how life won't flow, like a river, but moves in jumps, as if it were held back by locks that are opened now and then to let it jump forwards in a kind of flood?

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.

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

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.

Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.