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.

You should know that there is little you can seek in this world, that there is no need for you to be so greedy, in the end all you can achieve are memories, hazy, intangible, dreamlike memories which are impossible to articulate. When you try to relate them, there are only sentences, the dregs left from the filter of linguistic structures.

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

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

It's in literature that true life can be found. It's under the mask of fiction that you can tell the truth.

Dreams are more real than reality itself, they're closer to the self.

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