The past is what makes the present coherent, and the past will remain horrible for exactly as long as we refuse to assess it honestly.

For, while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, it always must be heard. There isn't any other tale to tell, it's the only light we've got in all this darkness.

A real writer is always shifting and changing and searching.

This world is white no longer, and it will never be white again.

The writer's greed is appalling. He wants, or seems to want, everything and practically everybody, in another sense, and at the same time, he needs no one at all.

It is perfectly possible to be enamoured of Paris while remaining totally indifferent or even hostile to the French.

The miracle is that some have stepped out of the rags of the Republic's definition to assume the great burden and glory of their humanity and their responsibility for one another. It is an extraordinary achievement to be trapped in the dungeon of color and to dare to shake down its walls and to step out of it leaving the jailkeeper in the rubble.