The magic question is, 'What for?' But art is not for anything. Art is the ultimate goal.

People who don’t know how to summarize have no dignity. Neither do people who needlessly drag on their messy lives. They who don’t know the beauty of simplification, of pruning away the unnecessary, die without ever comprehending the true meaning of life.

A novel, basically, is writing one sentence — then, without violating the scope of the first one, writing the next sentence.

And still everything’s the same, even though I did my best to get as far away as I could.

Novels are food for the leftover hours of life, the in-between times, the moments of waiting.

When the moon covers the sun, we have a solar eclipse. What do you call it when birds do that?

Why does nothing change, even when you set out for a faraway place?