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.

Once she was out of the car and gone, my world was suddenly hollow and meaningless.

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

I often recall these words when I am writing, and I think to myself, “It’s true. There aren’t any new words. Our job is to give new meanings and special overtones to absolutely ordinary words.” I find the thought reassuring. It means that vast, unknown stretches still lie before us, fertile territories just waiting for us to cultivate them.

Distance might not solve anything, no matter how far you run.

Lots of different ways to live and lots of different ways to die. But in the end that doesn't make a bit of difference. All that remains is a desert.

If you listen to the radio for a whole hour there's maybe one decent song. The rest is mass-produced garbage