I am for the ones who represent sense, and so was Jane Austen.

The relation between life and literature - a final antimony - is one of mutual plagiarism.

What's the use of falling in love if you both remain inertly as you were?

The happy ending is our national belief.

If someone tells you he is going to make a 'realistic decision', you immediately understand that he has resolved to do something bad.

In violence, we forget who we are

I suppose everyone continues to be interested in the quest for the self, but what you feel when you're older, I think, is that ... you really must make the self. It is absolutely useless to look for it, you won't find it, but it's possible in some sense to make it. I don't mean in the sense of making a mask, a Yeatsian mask. But you finally begin in some sense to make and choose the self you want.