I'm not talking to anyone, I'm delivering a monologue. It's the inebriated man's prerogative.

Every labyrinth has its minotaur

We seem to live in a world where forgetting and oblivion are an industry in themselves and very, very few people are remotely interested or aware of their own recent history, much less their neighbors'. I tend to think we are what we remember, what we know. The less we remember, the less we know about ourselves, the less we are. (Interview with Three Monkeys Online, October 2008)

Envy is the religion of the mediocre

Books hold no passports. There's only one true literary tradition: the human.

Man...heats up like a lightbulb: red hot in the twinkling of an eye and cold again in a flash. The female, on the other hand...heats up like an iron. Slowly, over a low heat, like tasty stew. But then, once she has heated up, there's no stopping her.

Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it.