Something happens, Blue thinks, and then it goes on happening forever. It can never be changed, can never be otherwise.

I never would have thought of that word, "hospitality." I settle into the rhythm of my steps.

Autobiographical writings, essays, interviews, various other things... All the non-fiction prose I wanted to keep, that was the idea behind this collected volume, which came out about few years ago. I didn't think of Winter Journal, for example, as an autobiography, or a memoir. What it is is a literary work, composed of autobiographical fragments, but trying to attain, I hope, the effect of music.

I thought, "Well, I'm writing about early childhood, so maybe it would make sense to write about late childhood as well, early adulthood." Those were my thoughts, and this was how this crazy book [Winter Journal] was composed. I've never seen a book with pictures like at the end, pictures related to things you've read before.

It seems to me that I will always be happy in the place where I am not.

The pictures do not lie, but neither do they tell the whole story. They are merely a record of time passing, the outward evidence.

For some reason, all my characters come to me with their names attached to them. I never have to search for the names.