No matter how ephemeral it is, a novel is something, while despair is nothing.

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Although they say that only idiots are happy, I confess that I felt happy.

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He felt immense tenderness for her. He was sure that he would always love her, for my happiness and also my misfortune.

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Almost seventy years later I remember clearly how the magic of translating the words in books into images enriched my life, breaking the barriers of time and space...

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Lies crushed day and night become truths.

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Writers are the exorcists of their own demons.

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Don't ask me why, because I'm not even going to tell you dead. I'm never going to tell you that I love you even if she loves you.

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Its easy to know what you want to say, but not to say it.

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Science is still only a candle glimmering in a great pitch-dark cavern.

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Reading is protesting against the insufficiencies of life.

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