“Hoi, hoi u embleer hrair! M'saion ule' hraka vair!”

“Silflay hraka, u embleer rah!”

“I come from the sort of family in which, at the age of ten, I was told I must always say hoi polloi, never "the hoi polloi," because hoi meant "the," and two "the's" were redundant -- indeed something only hoi polloi would say.”

“Nyalamae Un Poar Nyayam Thaanaa?Kaalamae Un Paer Kaayam Thaanaa?Yaaro Yaar Yaaro.. Venpugai Aavaaro..Poi Pola Yaavum Purandoduthey Hoi..Nyalamae Un Poar Nyayam Thaanaa?Kaalamae Un Paer Kaayam Thaanaa?Aetho Nenjukkul Aasai AasaithaanaaEllamae Manmaelae Maayai MaayaithaanaVaazhvaiyae Vetri Kollavae Yaarundu Sollu..Naerukku Naeraai Nijam Mothuthey Hoi..Kaalamae Thee Thaan Thoovalaamo..Yaavumae Maa Yai Aagalaamo..Saerththu Ellamae Veen Veenthaanaa..Paarthathu Ellamae Pogum Pogumthaanaa..Pookindra Poovellam Vaadiyae Theerum..Ul Naakku Kooda Kaaigirathey Hoi..Nyalamae Un Poar Nyayam Thaanaa?Kaalamae Un Paer Kaayam Thaanaa?Yaaro Yaar Yaaro.. Venpugai Aavaaro..Poi Pola Yaavum Purandoduthey Hoi..”

“And let’s debunk one bit of writer myth while we’re here: Doing a seventeenth revision on a project does not make a writer an artist or move him above the writer hoi polloi any more than dressing entirely in black or wearing tweed jackets with leather elbow patches or big, black drover coats. These are all affectations, and smack of dilettantism. Real writers, and real artists, finish books and move on to the next project.”

“Kāda auksta atmiņa: es vairs siltumu neatceros.”