how the French can talk. About a stew, about a fly on the parapet, about death, about anything.

We write out of revenge against reality, to dream and enter the lives of others.

The vast Pacific ocean would always remain the islanders' great solace, escape and nourishment, the amniotic fluid that would keep them hedonistic and aloof, guarded, gentle and mysterious.

I think it's one of the reasons I wrote my book later in life. My parents didn't have these extreme alternations of conduct. They were very sweet to me.

Mine [parents] started out more from scratch, because I'm constantly aware of what they suffered in the war.

Oh, save me God, but not quite yet.

one forgives parents as naturally as one emancipates oneself from them - usually shortly afterward.