I have teken refuge in the doctrine that advises one not to seek tranquility in certainty but in permanently suspended judgement.

To live as an artist requires hard work or some extraordinary good fortune to come your way.

We never love anyone. Not really. We only love our idea of another person. It is some conception of our own that we love. We love ourselves, in fact.

My novels are often about people who are in love or attracted to each other.

Do we change every time we have a new encounter? Are we endlessly mutable? I think these are fascinating questions: it's a rich vein to tap, and I don't think I have exhausted it fully yet.

We keep a journal to entrap that collection of selves that forms us, the individual human being.

The last thing you know about yourself is your effect.