Perhaps it is the language that chooses the writers it needs, making use of them so that each might express a tiny part of what it is.

Some drivers have already got out of their cars, prepared to push the stranded vehicle to a spot where it will not hold up the traffic, they beat furiously on the closed windows, the man inside turns his head in their direction, first to one side then to the other, he is clearly shouting something, to judge by the movements of his mouth he appears to be repeating some words, no one word but three, as turns out to be the case when someone finally manages to open the door, I am blind.

If we cannot live entirely like human beings, at least let us do everything in our power not to live entirely like animals.

That is the dream of all novelists-that one of their characters will become 'somebody.'

Every thing in life is a uniform; the only time our bodies are truly in civilian dress is when we're naked.

...this is the way fate usually treats us, it's right there behind us, it has already reached out a hand to touch us on the shoulder while we're still muttering to ourselves, It's all over, that's it, who cares anyhow.

The world had already changed before September 11. The world has been going through a process of change over the last 20 or 30 years. A civilization ends, another one begins.