Humankind can tolerate only so much rejection.
My novels are often about people who are in love or attracted to each other.
I have teken refuge in the doctrine that advises one not to seek tranquility in certainty but in permanently suspended judgement.
There's a sense in all my novels that nothing is certain.
I have this lock of hair that keeps falling across my forehead. It drives me mad.
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.