The more I try to explain myself, the less I understand myself.

In the history of humanity there are no civilizations or cultures which fail to manifest, in one or a thousand ways, this need for an absolute that is called heaven, freedom, a miracle, a lost paradise to be regained, peace, the going beyond History... There is no religion in which everyday life is not considered a prison; there is no philosophy or ideology that does not think that we live in alienation.... Humanity has always had a nostalgia for the freedom that is only beauty, that is only real; life, plenitude, light.

Realism falls short of reality. It shrinks it, attenuates it, falsifies it; it does not take into account our basic truths and our fundamental obsessions: love, death, astonishment. It presents man in a reduced and estranged perspective. Truth is in our dreams, in the imagination.

A writer never has a vacation. For a writer, life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.

Only the ephemeral is of lasting value.

It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.

People always try to find base motives behind every good action. We are afraid of pure goodness and of pure evil.