In love, as in finance, only the rich can get credit.

I shall live badly if I do not write, and I shall write badly if I do not live.

Love lasts about seven years. That's how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.

We are torn between the craving to know and the despair of having known.

There are moments when you feel trapped, ill at ease. A year later the same feeling can turn out to be the theme of a book.

Writing is a question of finding a certain rhythm. I compare it to the rhythms of jazz. Much of the time life is a sort of rhythmic progression of three characters. If one tells oneself that life is like that, one feels it less arbitrary.

For what are we looking for if not to please? I do not know if the desire to attract others comes from a superabundance of vitality, possessiveness, or the hidden, unspoken need to be reassured.