The unwaking world was as hushed as a deep forest.

In any case, suffice it to say I enjoyed hearing about faraway places. I had stocked up a whole store of these places, like a bear getting ready for hibernation. I'd close my eyes, and streets would materialize, rows of houses take shape. I could hear people's voices, feel the gentle, steady rhythm of their lives, those people so distant, whom I'd probably never know.

I don't think of myself as an artist. I'm just a guy who can write.

There is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for.

The honour of physical decline is waiting, and you have to get used to that reality.

It was as if I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.

My only passions were books and music. As you might guess, I led a lonely life… Not that I knew what I wanted in life - I didn’t. I loved reading novels to distraction, but didn’t write well enough to be a novelist; being an editor or a critic was out, too, since my tastes ran to the extremes. Novels should be for pure personal enjoyment, I decided, not part of your work or study. That’s why I didn’t study literature