My passion has always been books and literature, and teaching.

The revolution taught me not to be consoled by other people's miseries, not to feel thankful because so many others had suffered more. Pain and loss, like love and joy, are unique and personal; they cannot be modified by comparison to others.

The novels were an escape from reality in the sense that we could marvel at their beauty and perfection. Curiously, the novels we escaped into led us finally to question and prod our own realities, about which we felt so helplessly speechless.

Most great works of the imagination were meant to make you feel like a stranger in your own home. The best fiction always forced us to question what we took for granted. It questioned traditions and expectations when they seemed to immutable.

What we search for in fiction is not so much reality, but the epiphany of truth.

When I walked down the streets, I asked myself, are these my people?, is this my hometown, am I who I am?

She was one of those people who are irrevocably, incurably honest and therefore both inflexible and vulnerable at the same time.