Every time I start on a new book, I am a beginner again. I doubt myself, I grow discouraged, all the work accomplished in the past is as though it never was, my first drafts are so shapeless that it seems impossible to go on with the attempt at all, right up until the moment - always imperceptible, there, too, there is a break - when it is has become impossible not to finish it.

Fathers never have exactly the daughters they want because they invent a notion a them that the daughters have to conform to.

Anyway I know only too well that all life is nothing but a brief reprieve from death.

In order to be an artist, one must be deeply rooted in the society.

There has to be a certain relationship between the life and the writing style, and that is really a problem.

I cannot be angry at God, in whom I do not believe.

All the opportunities you let slip by! The idea, the inspiration just doesn´t come fast enough. Instead of being open, you´re closed up tight. That´s the worst sin of all - the sin of omission.