An entire life spent reading would have fulfilled my every desire; I already knew that at the age of seven. The texture of the world is painful, inadequate; unalterable, or so it seems to me. Really, I believe that an entire life spent reading would have suited me best. Such a life has not been granted me.

Tenderness is a deeper instinct than seduction, which is why it is so hard to give up hope.

I tend to think that good and evil exist and that the quantity in each of us is unchangeable. The moral character of people is set, fixed until death.

In my own writing, I think of myself as a realist who exaggerates a little.

I think that if I am notorious, it is because other people have decided that this is how I should be.

I've lived so little that I tend to imagine I'm not going to die; it seems improbable that human existence can be reduced to so little; one imagines, in spite of oneself, that sooner or later something is bound to happen. A big mistake. A life can just as well be both empty and short. The days slip by indifferently, leaving neither trace nor memory; and then all of a sudden they stop.

Using a big word like 'plagiarism'... always causes some damage. It will always do lasting damage, like accusations of racism.