Only a lunatic would think that art is superior to nature.

In the history of literature there are many great enduring works which were not published in the lifetimes of the authors. If the authors had not achieved self-affirmation while writing, how could they have continued to write?

With the beginning of life, comes the thirst for truth, whereas the ability to lie is gradually acquired in the process of trying to stay alive.

For me, writing [was] a question of survival...I could not trust anyone, even my family. The atmosphere was so poisoned. People even in your own family could turn you in.

Observing humans and observing oneself yields a clear-minded starting point for literature.

Walk where your heart leads you, there are no restrictions and no burdens.

Love is so holy, so confusing. It makes a man anxious, tormented. Love, how can I define it?