A famous writer who wants to continue writing has to be constantly defending himself against fame.

...they enjoyed the miracle of loving each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out old people they kept on blooming like children and playing together like dogs.

The fact is that being seductive is an addiction that can never be satisfied.

A falcon who chases a warlike crane can only hope for a life of pain.

It was a meditation on life, love, old age, death: ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them.

Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood.

The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love.