Nothing so tires a person as having to struggle, not with himself, but with an abstraction.

The world is governed by institutions that are not democratic - the World Bank, the IMF, the WTO.

I think we are blind, Blind but seeing, Blind people who can see, but do not see.

People live with the illusion that we have a democratic system, but it's only the outward form of one. In reality we live in a plutocracy, a government of the rich.

The novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary space, like a sea that is filled by many rivers.

The U.S. needs to control the Middle East, the gateway to Asia. It already has military installations in Uzbekistan.

Words that come from the heart are never spoken, they get caught in the throat and can only be read in ones's eyes.

A journey never ends. Only the travellers end.

What kind of world is this that can send machines to Mars and does nothing to stop the killing of a human being?

We use words to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other.

No human being can achieve all he or she desires in this life except in dreams, so good night all.

I think we're supposed to know everything we can figure out. I don't think we're supposed to make up answers just because we can't stand living with unanswered questions.

When Grandma Mazur is talking about the reason for the improved play of her 91-year-old bowling teammate, she said: "She's doing better now that we got her the longer tubing to her oxygen tank.

The costliest women are the ones who cost nothing.

God is, if I may say it, very unscrupulous

Women have been denied access to advanced methods of self discovery throughout the ages.

The sicker you get, the harder it is to remember if you took your medicine.

To endeavor to forget anyone is a certain way of thinking of nothing else.

My whole thing is that I want to explore why you read books, what's the purpose of reading, and maybe that it's not that cool to hate something just because it's popular.

One ought only to write when one leaves a piece of one's own flesh in the inkpot, each time one dips one's pen.

For what is the program of the bourgeois parties? A bad poem on springtime, filled to bursting with metaphors.