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.

Precipitate as weather, she appeared from somewhere, then evaporated, leaving only memory.

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

The world in books seemed so much more alive to me than anything outside. I could see things I'd never seen before. Books and music were my best friends. I had a couple of good friends at school, but never met anyone I could really speak my heart to. We'd just make small talk, play soccer together. When something bothered me, I didn't talk with anyone about it. I thought it over all by myself, came to a conclusion, and took action alone. Not that I really felt lonely. I thought that's just the way things are. Human beings, in the final analysis, have to survive on their own.

Kafka is one of my very favorite writers. Kafka's fictional world is already so complete that trying to follow in his steps is not just pointless, but quite risky, too. What I see myself doing, rather, is writing novels where, in my own way, I dismantle the fictional world of Kafka that itself dismantled the existing novelistic system.

Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.

Sex is an extremely subtle undertaking, unlike going to the department store on a Sunday to buy a thermos.