Sometimes I would see them not as mementos of the blissful hours but as the tangible precious debris of the storm raging in my soul.

When two people love each other as we do, no one can come between them, no one," I said, amazed at the words I was uttering without preparation. "Lovers like us, because they know that nothing can destroy their love, even on the worst days, even when they are heedlessly hurting each other in the cruelest , most deceitful ways, still carry in their hearts a consolation that never abandons them." (p.191)

Painting taught literature to describe.

The real choice we have to make is between peace and nationalism.

My decision to view the world through novels, as it were, which is a typically European way of looking at things, became a heavy burden for me. But I took it on consciously, even though it was torture for me.

[N]othing is as surprising as life. Except for writing. Except for writing. Yes, of course, except for writing, the only consolation.

The writers secret is not inspiration - for it is never clear where it comes from - it is his stubbornness, his patience.