Every novel is an ideal plane inserted into the realm of reality.

I saw a sunset in Queretaro that seemed to reflect the color of a rose in Bengal.

As a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight.

He was very religious; he believed that he had a secret pact with God which exempted him from doing good in exchange for prayers and piety.

I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited.

Art is very mysterious. I wonder if you can really do any damage to art. I think that when we're writing, something comes through or should come through, in spite of our theories. So theories are not really important.

The central problem of novel-writing is causality.