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.

I have never sought the reason why I write.

I don't admire Freud as much as some people do. Imagine Shakespeare being aware of the Oedipal complex when he wrote Hamlet. It would have been a disaster.

Neither reproaches nor encouragements are able to revive a faith that is waning.

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

Women have seen that they have locked themselves up with feminist writing.

I have often heard that the novel is dead. But I see novels produced, I don't know how many a week, in France. I have the impression it's carrying along quite well.