Later she came to realise that under one reality there’s always another. And another one under that.

Her works are said to be too far from reality to be considered real literature. “Why doesn’t she write about life?” the people of Rabbit Back ask.

Are writers the torchbearers of humanity? It’s a romantic idea, but it’s complete rubbish. We writers are the crocodiles in the river.

Besides, I don’t understand people who read a book for pleasure and then ruminate on the book’s ideas. Paper was invented so we wouldn’t have to keep all those thoughts in our heads.

Ella had asked the writer how it felt to see her own works published. Seläntö had smiled sweetly at her and whispered, “You know what? It makes you understand why a dog eats its own vomit.

Do you want to know how to write novels? I’ll tell you the secret: start on page one and keep going, in order, until you come to the last page. Then stop.

The belief that we are deficient and unworthy makes it difficult to trust that we are truly loved

In his arms, I slowly unfolded like a love note read in secret.

He's an honest man - you could shoot craps with him over the telephone.

It's hard to remember that this day will never come again. That the time is now and the place is here and that there are no second chances at a single moment.

Those who say 'you only live once' have never read a book.

Last year I traveled to the Middle East to visit with troops in Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan.

What animates me in politics are the economic issues of opportunity.

I believe that the (distorting) mirror which is photography holds an intrinsic, even elemental, relation to writing.

The persistence of an all-absorbing idea is terrible.

I think when we engage in language we are engaging in something that is specifically and primally human.