Every day, a piece of music, a short story, or a poem dies because its existence is no longer justified in our time. And things that were once considered immortal have become mortal again, no one knows them anymore. Even though they deserve to survive.

My plays are made up of long monologues, which is similar to prose working with the language

Vice is basically the love of failure.

I think isolation is one of the greatest problems, an ever-growing obstacle to political solidarity.

Literature that keeps employing new linguistic and formal modes of expression to draft a panorama of society as a whole while at the same time exposing it, tearing the masks from its face - for me that would be deserving of an award.

I have the feeling it will influence my future writing to the extent that without any material worries I could develop a greater ease, even lightheartedness, in my writing

Art and order, the relatives that refuse to relate.