Yes, I am confusing literature with life. I'm declaring my own ordinary life to be a work of literature.

Dreams are debris from bad day. Dreams are poems by bad poets that never got written.

The world can't die. Many generations have thought the world was dying. But it was only their world which was dying.

She smelled like water that had been warmed by the sun, and she also had the sharp, enticing aroma of birch leaves.

Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. If you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it.

For the moment I prefer to be a beautiful woman of my age than try desperately to look 30.

Compassion is the only one of the human emotions the Lord permitted Himself and it has carried the divine flavor ever since.

The future will be the child of the past and the present, even if a rebellious child.

How can we speak of right and justice if we take an innocent creature and shed its blood? How can we pray to God for mercy if we ourselves have no mercy? Nobel laureate in literature.

If you know the voice you're writing for it's such a shortcut. It's such a catalyst to creating the kind of energy you want.

From success, you learn absolutely nothing. From failure and setbacks conclusions can be drawn. That goes for your private life as well as your career.

In every country, it's different, and you have to be flexible and slow and careful, and in the end rely on the experience of others who have gone before you and have begun to figure these things out.

I love to use beets as a lip tint. It lasts all day.

I blend memories. I blend them into one that's funny. I exaggerate to clarify.