It just happened. As though a moment comes when it's both necessary and natural to make a decision that has long since been made.

A novelist is a man who doesn't like his mother.

We are all potentially characters in a novel--with the difference that characters in a novel really get to live their lives to the full.

And Boucard desisted, probably because like everyone else he was deeply impressed by this man who had laid all ghosts, who had lost all shadows, and who stared you in the eyes with cold serenity.

If your vision of the world is of a certain kind you will put poetry in everything, necessarily.

It was night and I could see a large and calm lake, reflecting the moon. Black mountains rose around it. I arrived from between two of these mountains, I looked at the lake and the moon, and that was it, nothing else happened.

I have always tried to write in a simple way, using down-to-earth and not abstract words.