Waiting is the rust of the soul.

Time curses all, I thought, except the truth.

Perhaps for that very reason, I adored her all the more, because of the eternal human stupidity of pursuing those who hurt us the most.

I always felt that I was a writer, that was what I had to do.

Literature, at least good literature, is science tempered with the blood of art. Like architecture or music.

Julian spoke with the clear, unequivocal lucidity of madmen who have escaped the hypocrisy of having to abide by a reality that makes no sense.

In those days I learned that nothing is more frightening than a hero who lives to tell his story, to tell what all those who fell at his side will never be able to tell.