The Cemetery of Forgotten Books is a metaphor, not just for books but for ideas, for language, for knowledge, for beauty, for all the things that make us human, for collecting memory

I tried to swallow his nonsense without choking.

Does the madman know he is mad? Or are the madmen those who insist o. Convincing him of his unreason in order to safeguard their own idea of reality?

It's up to you how you waste your time and money. I'm staying here to read: life's too short.

Over time, loneliness gets inside you and doesn't go away.

Life had taught her that we all require big and small lies in order to survive, just as much as we need air. She used to say that if during one single day, from dawn to dusk, we could see the naked reality of the world, and of ourselves, we would either take our own lives or lose our minds.

I became a writer, a teller of tales, because otherwise I would have died... or worse.