You throw a stone into a deep pond. Splash. The sound is big, and it reverberates throughout the surrounding area. What comes out of the pond after that? All we can do is stare at the pond, holding our breath.

I myself, as I'm writing, don't know who did it. The readers and I are on the same ground. When I start to write a story, I don't know the conclusion at all and I don't know what's going to happen next. If there is a murder case as the first thing, I don't know who the killer is. I write the book because I would like to find out. If I know who the killer is, there's no purpose to writing the story.

There's no such thing as perfect writing, just like there's no such thing as perfect despair.

The best musicians transpose consciousness into sound; painters do the same for color and shape.

Time flows in strange ways on Sundays, and sights become mysteriously distorted.

In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.

There had to be something wrong with my life. I should have been born a Yugoslavian shepherd who looked up at the Big Dipper every night.