In effect I am not a novelist, but rather a failed essayist who started to write novels because he didn't know how to write essays.

Strictly speaking, we do not make decisions. Decisions make us.

Forgive me if what has seemed little to you, to me is all.

For human words are like shadows, and shadows are incapable of explaining light and between shadow and light there is the opaque body from which words are born.

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

What kind of world is this that can send machines to Mars and does nothing to stop the killing of a human being?

Death ... doesn't take her eyes off us for a minute, so much so that even those who are not yet due to die feel her gaze pursuing them constantly.