Perhaps only in a world of the blind will things be what they truly are.

As my cat would say, all hours are good for sleeping.

We know that happiness is short-lived, that we fail to cherish it when it is within our grasp and value it only when it has vanished forever.

Because each of you has his or her own death, you carry it with you in a secret place from the moment you're born, it belongs to you and you belong to it.

But truths need to be repeated many times so that they don't, poor things, lapse into oblivion.

I do not just write, I write what I am. If there is a secret, perhaps that is it.

In the end, I am quite normal. I don't have odd habits. I don't dramatize. Above all, I do not romanticize the act of writing. I don't talk about the anguish I suffer in creating. I do not have a fear of the blank page, writer's block, all those things that we hear about writers.