She had grown older. And he loved her more now than he had loved her when he understood her better, when she was the product of her parents. What she was now was what she herself had decided to become.

You want to suggest something new, but at the same time, resolve the drama of the action in the novel.

Fathers die.You keep on loving them in any way you can.You can't hide him away in your heart.

I often need a limited space. It's like having a house to roam around in and reinvent and have things to happen in, kind of like a French farce. Doors opening, doors closing, new people arriving, and disappearing, and so forth.

We keep wanting to save those who are forlorn in this world. It’s a male habit.

There is a story, always ahead of you. Barely existing. Only gradually do you attach yourself to it and feed it. You discover the carapace that will contain and test your character. You will find in this way the path of your life.

all this Beethoven and rain