The idea that you might end up in a job that doesn't allow you to be who you are, over the course of a lifetime, is still one of the most chilling nightmares to me. It's a good metaphor for fears I have about losing my soul in some accidental, mundane way. So, to me, these jobs that my characters have are very loaded. They immediately suggest a complex character to me, a woman who is, say, a secretary, but also a vigilante on behalf of her own soul.

I cried in English, I cried in french, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world.

Inelegantly, and without my consent, time passed.

He's stuck at 3:14 a.m. with only the moon to talk to.

Was she terrifyingly beautiful? Was she so ignorant she didn't deserve the truth? Was she also a liar and thus it was something they did together? I don't believe in psychology; which says everything you do is because of yourself. That is so untrue. We are social animals, and everything we do is because of other people, because we love them, or because we don't.

Where do we come from? Do souls really exist? I can't answer these questions, especially not at 6am.

That's the artist's job, really: continually setting yourself free, and giving yourself new options and new ways of thinking about things.