I could disappear from the face of the earth, and the world would go on moving without the slightest twinge. Things were tremendously complicated, to be sure, but one thing was clear: no one needed me.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages - a special odor of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers. Breathing it in, I glance through a few pages before returning each book to its shelf.

When I start to write, I don't have any plan at all. I just wait for the story to come.

It doesn’t matter how old I get, but as long as I continue to live I’ll always discover something new about myself.

You like to write. It's the single most important quality for someone who wants to be a writer. But not in itself enough.

Music brings a warm glow to my vision, thawing mind and muscle from their endless wintering.