No matter where i go, i still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but i'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that i can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as i'll come to defining myself.

She was hearing everything that went on in his heart, like a person who can trace a map with his fingertip and conjure up vivid, living scenery.

He appeared before me and departed. We were not able to speak to or touch each other. But in that short interval, he transformed many things inside me. He literally stirred my mind and body the way a spoon stirs a cup of cocoa, down to the depths of my internal organs and my womb.

Start making excuses and there's no end to it. I can't live that kind of life.

You make do with what you have. As you age you learn even to be happy with what you have.

It's good when food tastes good, it's kind of like proof you're alive.

The best point of my novels, I think, is their humor. I want to keep many my works humorous.