I like writing about women, weak and strong, pathetic and heroic. I like writing about men, ditto. And all the variants of men and women, beasts and demons.

She could not mourn. She could no longer weep grasping the essence of annihilation, she wished only to cease, to be no more, as if sunk in some profound sleep devoid of wakening.

The soul is a magician. Only living flesh hampers it.

I've been criticised for writing in too complex a manner for younger people.

Im writing what comes into my head, or through me, or from somewhere else, and it is the most extraordinary, exciting thing. I love it, and Im very greedy, and I really enjoy it!

Hope is a punishable offense. The verdict is always death; one more death of the heart.

It was not apathy. It was an intelligent disinterest in those things that could have no bearing on one's existence.