We all have such fateful objects -- it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a number in another -- carefully chosen by the gods to attract events of specific significance for us: here shall John always stumble; there shall Jane's heart always break.

I see again my schoolroom in Vyra, the blue roses of the wallpaper, the open window.… Everything is as it should be, nothing will ever change, nobody will ever die.

All religions are based on obsolete terminology.

Another tormentor inquired if it was true that I had installed two ping-pong tables in my basement. I asked, was it a crime? No, he said, but why two? Is that a crime? I countered, and they all laughed.

The more gifted and talkative one's characters are, the greater the chances of their resembling the author in tone or tint of mind.

I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

Solitude was corrupting me.