I just go to lunch. And I never know when something is going into the file and something is not.

The ending is one of my blackest, utterly without hope of any sort.

Venetians feel affection and loyalty to their city, rather than to the Italian state.

A story begins and it always passes from the subjunctive to the declarative. And Italians don't seem to care about making a fine distinction between that which is speculation and that which is fact.

I was extraordinarily lucky. I wrote a book because I wanted to see if I could write a mystery. Someone nagged me into sending it to a contest, which it won, after which I was offered a two-book contract, thus requiring the writing of a second book.

Italians know about human nature - they understand human nature perhaps better than anyone else does. They know that people are weak and greedy and lazy and dishonest and they just try to make the best of it; to work around it.

I never wanted to be rich or successful or famous. I just wanted to be happy and have fun.