Writing is like making love. Don't worry about the orgasm, just concentrate on the process.

When you make an omelet, as when you make love, affection counts for more than technique.

I would like to be with my husband together sitting somewhere in a lonely place in the woods and take something, maybe some pills or something, a magic potion and die together.

The library is inhabited by spirits that come out of the pages at night.

The fact that I am a writer comes from the experience of being cut away from my roots and living in Venezuela, where I couldn't find a place for myself, for years and years.

Give, give, give-what is the point of having experience, knowledge or talent if I don't give it away?

We only appreciate what we have when we lose it.