I Had No Books At Home. I

...sometimes We Ask Ourselves Why Happiness Took So Long To Arrive, Why It Didn't Come Sooner, But Appears Suddenly, As Now, When We've Given Up Hope Of It Ever Arriving, It's Likely Then That We Won't Know What To Do, And Rather Than It Being A Question Of Choosing Between Laughter And Tears, We Will Be Filled By A Secret Anxiety To Which We Might Not Know How To Respond At All.

Anyone Who Gets Up Early By Inclination Or Has Been Forced To Rise Early Out Of Necessity Finds It Intolerable That Others Should Go On Sleeping Soundly

In The End We Discover The Only Condition For Living Is To Die.

I Was Born In A Family Of Landless Peasants, In Azinhaga, A Small Village In The Province Of Ribatejo, On The Right Bank Of The Almonda River, Around A Hundred Kilometres North-east Of Lisbon.

Sometimes I Say That Writing A Novel Is The Same As Constructing A Chair: A Person Must Be Able To Sit In It, To Be Balanced On It. If I Can Produce A Great Chair, Even Better. But Above All I Have To Make Sure That It Has Four Stable Feet.