So I do not consider myself a chronicler of my fatherland or even a chronicler of Havana

I am a writer of fragments.

If the sleep of reason produces monsters, what does the sleep of unreason produce?

I left my country because I was forced to, and I do not think that I am going to lose my language because I live in England

I am against the notion of style in itself

Writers rush in where publishers fear to tread and where translators fear to tread

I think that like all writers - and if any writer disagrees with this, then he is not a writer - I write primarily for myself