The novel moves like all the arts. It's transforming itself all the time.

All psychological research is completely barred by the interpretations of the psychoanalysts. Everything happens in the unconscious, and I don't know what this unconscious is.

Suspicion is one of the morbid reactions by which an organism defends itself and seeks another equilibrium.

It's the duty of all novelists, all painters, all musicians, all people who try to make art move: to look for something they feel authentically, without paying attention to styles.

Television has lifted the manufacture of banality out of the sphere of handicraft and placed it in that of a major industry.

Literature is always trying to show other parts of this immense universe in which we live. It's endless. I'm sure there will be other writers who will discover new worlds.

I have never sought the reason why I write.