My mother always says that fear and pain are immediate, and that, when they're gone we're left with the concept, but not the true memory.

In the end, all you want is someone to long for you when it comes time to put you in the ground.

In my earliest memory, my grandfather is bald as a stone and he takes me to see the tigers.

A lot of writers that I know have told me that the first book you write, you write about your childhood, whether you want to or not. It calls you back.

At the end of the day, it's about the reader's attachment to and belief in the magical elements that make or break magical realism.

I grew up in Cyprus and Egypt, these fantastic places I remember fondly.

Come on, is your heart a sponge or a fist?