I have read all my novels that were translated into English. Reading my novels is enjoyable because I forget almost all the content in them.

It feels good to think about you when I'm warm in bed. I feel as if you're curled up there beside me, fast asleep. And I think how great it would be if it were true.

For example, the wind has its reasons. We just don't notice as we go about our lives. But then, at some point, we are made to notice. The wind envelops you with a certain purpose in mind, and it rocks you. The wind knows everything that's inside you. And not just the wind. Everything, including a stone. They all know us very well. From top to bottom. It only occurs to us at certain times. And all we can do is go with those things. As we take them in, we survive, and deepen.

I want to believe you, but if that's true, I just don't get it. Why does loving somebody mean you have to hurt them just as much? I mean, if that's the way it goes, what's the point of loving someone?

The most important thing we learn at school is the fact that the most important things can't be learned at school.

Nobody's easier to fool, than the person who is convinced that he is right.

Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.