Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are.

The novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary space, like a sea that is filled by many rivers.

There are such moments in life, when, in order for heaven to open, it is necessary for a door to close.

Americans have discovered the fragility of life, that ominous fragility that the rest of the world either already experienced or is experiencing now with terrible intensity.

Americans have discovered fear.

We can escape from everything, but not from ourselves.

The time for miracles has either passed or not come yet, besides, miracles, genuine miracles, whatever people say, are not such a good idea, if it means destroying the very order of things in order to improve them.