It was like there was some parallel universe we all vanished off to where we had all this sex.

After all, what can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished?

A part of us stayed like that: fearful of the world around us, and-no matter how much we despised ourselves for it-unable quite to let each other go.

We all complete. Maybe none of us really understand what we've lived through, or feel we've had enough time.

If you are under the impression you have already perfected yourself, you will never rise to the heights you are no doubt capable of.

Your life must now run the course that's been set for it.

Memory is quite central for me. Part of it is that I like the actual texture of writing through memory...

I can't even say I made my own mistakes. Really - one has to ask oneself - what dignity is there in that?

You need to remember that. If you’re to have decent lives, you have to know who you are and what lies ahead of you, every one of you.

As a writer, I'm more interested in what people tell themselves happened rather than what actually happened

It had never occurred to me that our lives, which had been so closely interwoven, could unravel with such speed.

Poor creatures. What did we do to you? With all our schemes and plans?

The problem, as I see it, is that you've been told and not told. You've been told, but none of you really understand, and I dare say, some people are quite happy to leave it that way.

The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.

Indeed — why should I not admit it? — in that moment, my heart was breaking.

She always wanted to believe in things.

All children have to be deceived if they are to grow up without trauma.

You say you’re sure? Sure that you’re in love? How can you know it? You think love is so simple?

You have to accept that sometimes that's how things happen in this world. People's opinions, their feelings, they go one way, then the other. It just so happens you grew up at a certain point in this process.

What I'm not sure about, is if our lives have been so different from the lives of the people we save. We all complete. Maybe none of us really understand what we've lived through, or feel we've had enough time.

We took away your art because we thought it would reveal your souls. Or to put it more finely, we did it to prove you had souls at all.

Sometimes I get so immersed in my own company, if I unexpectedly run into someone I know, it's a bit of a shock and takes me a while to adjust.

Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.

There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one.