There are ways of dying that don't end in funerals. Types of death you can't smell.

Life is like a box of cookies.

It's true that at the time I was fond of Kurt Vonnegut and Richard Brautigan, and it was from them that I learned about this kind of simple, swift-paced style, but the main reason for the style of my first novel is that I simply did not have the time to write sustained prose.

It is sometimes necessary for each person. Fill up with delicious food, get drunk, sing loudly and chat frivolously.

What I want is for the two of us to meet somewhere by chance one day, like, passing on the street, or getting on the same bus.

One impossible day, of an impossible month, of an impossible year.

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.