As so often happens, the thing left undone tires you most of all, you only feel rested when it has been accomplished.

I believe that I've been asked all possible questions. I, myself, if I were a journalist, would not know what to ask me.

I write to try to understand, and because I have nothing better to do.

Sleep is a skilled magician, it changes the proportions of things, the distances between them, it separates people and they're lying next to each other, brings them together and they can barely see one another.

We use words to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other.

Often when you ask for one thing you receive another, this is the mysterious thing about prayer, we address them to heaven with some private intention, but they choose their own path, sometimes they delay, allowing other prayers to overtake them, frequently they overlap and become hybrid prayers of dubious origin, which quarrel and argue among themselves.

If I could repeat my childhood, I would repeat it exactly as it was, with the poverty, the cold, little food, with the flies and pigs, all that.