If ever you wish to meet intellectual frauds in quantity, go to Paris.

My grief is that the publishing world, the book writing world is an extraordinary shoddy, dirty, dingy world.

I have trusted to my intuition to find the subjects, and I have written intuitively. I have an idea when I start, I have a shape; but I will fully understand what I have written only after some years.

Home is, I suppose just a child's idea. A house at night, and a lamp in the house. A place to feel safe.

Whatever extra there is in me at any given moment isn't fully formed. I am hardly aware of it; it awaits the next book. It will - with luck - come to me during the actual writing, and it will take me by surprise

I will say I am the sum of my books.

Argentine political life is like the life of an ant community or an African forest tribe: full of events, full of crisis and deaths, but life is always cyclical, and the year ends as it begins.