The critics are like tourists who return from a trip saying they've "done" Machu Picchu: "Okay, we've done magical realism," so now we can throw it out.

I have been asked whether I wish to nominate a successor, an inheritor, a dauphin or delfino. I have decided to name Christopher Hitchens.

These little books I write, such as The End of Freedom, about the post-9/11 political climate in the United States, sell in the hundreds of thousands of copies. Whereas, I hear novels on marriage are not selling. This is perhaps not the judgment of God, but it is certainly that of history.

I don't seem to be cynical to myself but how what I say goes down with others is their problem. I'm realistic.

One's neighbor is always the enemy. That is the nature of things.

The only absolute attainment is absolute abandonment.

I look into my own black heart.