The minds of human beings are not always entirely at one with the world in which they live, some people have trouble adjusting to reality, basically they're just weak, confused spirits who use words, sometimes very skillfully, to justify their cowardice.

Today's bread does not eliminate yesterday's hunger, much less that of tomorrow.

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

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.

Writer's make national literature, while translators make universal literature.

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

Words that come from the heart are never spoken, they get caught in the throat and can only be read in ones's eyes.