The stories we hear in our childhood are the ones we remember all our lives.

Even people capable of living in the past don't really know what the future holds.

It was as hysterical as a woman having a hot flash.

Sometimes [...] real love is silent as well as blind.

I wanted to say goodbye to someone, and have someone say goodbye to me. The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the goodbyes that tell us we´re still alive.

I believe the first draft of a book — even a long one — should take no more than three months…Any longer and — for me, at least — the story begins to take on an odd foreign feel, like a dispatch from the Romanian Department of Public Affairs, or something broadcast on high-band shortwave duiring a period of severe sunspot activity.

In these silences something may rise