“I don't want to startAny blasphemous rumoursBut I think that God'sGot a sick sense of humourAnd when I dieI expect to findHim laughing.”

“And I thank you for bringing me here For showing me home For singing these tears Finally I've found that I belong here.”

“In your room where time stands stillOr moves at your will.Will you let the morning come soon,Or will you leave me lying here?In your favorite darkness,Your favorite half-light,Your favorite consciousness,Your favorite slave.In your room where souls disappearOnly you exist here.Will you lead me to your armchair,Or leave me lying here?Your favorite innocence,Your favorite prize,Your favorite smile,Your favorite slave.In your room your burning eyesCause flames to arise.Will you let the fire die down soon,Or will I always be here?Your favorite passion,Your favorite game,Your favorite mirror,Your favorite slave.I'm hanging on your words,Living on your breath,Feeling with your skin.Will I always be here?”

“To the soul's desiresThe body listensWhat the flesh requiresKeeps the heart imprisonedWhat the spirit seeksThe mind will followWhen the body speaksAll else is hollow”

“I think that God's got a sick sense of humour, and when I die I expect to find him laughing.”

“The most interesting thing about writing is the way that it obliterates time. Three hours seem like three minutes. Then there is the business of surprise. I never know what is coming next. The phrase that sounds in the head changes when it appears on the page. Then I start probing it with a pen, finding new meanings. Sometimes I burst out laughing at what is happening as I twist and turn sentences. Strange business, all in all. One never gets to the end of it. That’s why I go on, I suppose. To see what the next sentences I write will be.”

“I wanted to be a politician and a movie star. But I was born a writer. If you're born that, you can't change it. You're going to do it whether you want to or not.”