Even the worst book can give us something to think about.

I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.

Poorly prepared for the dignity of life, I barely keep up with the pace of the action imposed. Reality demands.

I don't know the role I'm playing. I only know it's mine, non-convertible.

All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

I cannot imagine any writer who would not fight for his peace and quiet.