I stand on the end platform of the tram and am completely unsure of my footing in this world, in this town, in my family. Not even casually could I indicate any claims that I might rightly advance in any direction. I have not even any defense to offer for standing on this platform, holding on to this strap, letting myself be carried along by this tram, nor for the people who give way to the tram or walk quietly along or stand gazing into shop windows. Nobody asks me to put up a defense, indeed, but that is irrelevant.

The man in ecstasy and the man drowning - both throw up their arms. The first to signify harmony, the second to signify strife with the elements.

I believe that we should read only those books that bite and sting us. If a book we are reading does not rouse us with a blow to the head, then why read it?

We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.

Hiding places there are innumerable, escape is only one, but possibilities of escape, again, are as many as hiding places.

There are times when I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship.

Love has as few problems as a motor car. The only problems are the driver, the passengers, and the road.