Father Died Last Year. I Don't Subscribe

I'd Say That The Question Whether Love Still Exists Plays The Same Role In My Novels As The Question Of God's Existence In Dostoevsky.

Without Beauty A Girl Is Unhappy Because She Has Missed Her Chance To Be Loved. People Do Not Jeer At Her, They Are Not Cruel To Her, But It Is As If She Were Invisible, No Eyes Follow Her As She Walks. People Feel Uncomfortable When They Are With Her. They Find It Easier To Ignore Her. A Girl Who Is Exceptionally Beautiful, On The Other Hand, Who Has Something Which Too Far Surpasses The Customary Seductive Freshness Of Adolescence, Appears Somehow Unreal. Great Beauty Seems Invariably To Portend Some Tragic Fate.

Father Died Last Year. I Don't Subscribe To The Theory By Which We Only Become Truly Adult When Our Parents Die; We Never Become Truly Adult.

There Is No Point In Asking Me General Questions Because I Am Always Changing My Mind.

When A Country Is Strong... It Accepts Any Dose Of Pessimism From Its Writers.