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

He came to this country like a torch on fire and he swallowed air as he walked forward and he gave out light

She is a woman of honour and smartness whose wild leaves out luck, always taking risks, and there is something in her brow now, that only she can recognize in a mirror. Ideal and idealistic in that shiny dark hair! People fall in love with her. She is a woman I don’t know well enough to hold in my wing, if writers have wings, to harbour for the rest of my life.

Sadness is very close to hate.

Right now, I have no idea what I will write or if I will write again.

When you're writing, it's as if you're within a kind of closed world.

This was the time in her life that she fell upon books as the only door out of her cell. They became half her world.