I'm A Perfectly Equipped Failure.

The Revolution Taught Me Not To Be Consoled By Other People's Miseries, Not To Feel Thankful Because So Many Others Had Suffered More. Pain And Loss, Like Love And Joy, Are Unique And Personal; They Cannot Be Modified By Comparison To Others.

There Is Little Consolation In The Fact That Millions Of People Are Unhappier Than We Are. Why Should Other People's Misery Make Us Happier Or More Content?

If I Turned Towards Books, It Was Because They Were The Only Sanctuary I Knew, One I Needed In Order To Survive, To Protect Some Aspect Of Myself That Was Now In Constant Retreat.

In All Great Works Of Fiction, Regardless Of The Grim Reality They Present, There Is An Affirmation Of Life Against The Transience Of That Life, An Essential Defiance. This Affirmation Lies In The Way The Author Takes Control Of Reality By Retelling It In His Own Way, Thus Creating A New World. Every Great Work Of Art, I Would Declare Pompously, Is A Celebration, An Act Of Insubordination Against The Betrayals, Horrors And Infidelities Of Life. The Perfection And Beauty Of Form Rebels Against The Ugliness And Shabbiness Of The Subject Matter.

You Need Imagination In Order To Imagine A Future That Doesn't Exist.