Everybody has to start somewhere. You have your whole future ahead of you. Perfection doesn't happen right away.

Dreaming is the day job of novelists, but sharing our dreams is a still more important task for us. We cannot be novelists without this sense of sharing something.

I'm a very ordinary human being; I just happen to like reading books.

The better you were able to imagine what you wanted to imagine, the farther you could flee from reality.

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.

Unclose your mind. You are not a prisoner. You are a bird in flight, searching the skies for dreams.

And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they're nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.