He will hear the rain before he feels it, a clicking on the dry grass, on the olive leaves.

You built your walls too, she tells him. So I have my wall. She says it glittering in a beauty he cannot stand. She with her beautiful clothes with her pale face that laughs at everyone who smiles at her.

The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.

This last night we tear into each other, as if to wound, as if to find the key to everything before morning.

The trouble with all of us is we are where we shouldn't be.

You don't want to write your own opinion, you don't want to just represent yourself, but represent yourself through someone else.

We own the country we grow up in, or we are aliens and invaders.