To Survive, You Must Tell Stories.

I Don't Miss My Youth. I'm Glad I Had One, But I Wouldn't Like To Start Over.

I Feel That I Am A Scholar Who Only With The Left Hand Writes Novels.

To Play The Trumpet, You Must Train Your Lips For A Long Time. When I Was Twelve Or Thirteen I Was A Good Player, But I Lost The Skill And Now I Play Very Badly. I Do It Every Day Even So. The Reason Is That I Want To Return To My Childhood. For Me, The Trumpet Is Evidence Of The Sort Of Young Man I Was.

There Are Magic Moments, Involving Great Physical Fatigue And Intense Motor Excitement, That Produce Visions Of People Known In The Past. As I Learned Later From The Delightful Little Book Of The Abbé De Bucquoy, There Are Also Visions Of Books As Yet Unwritten.

The Author May Not Interpret. But He Must Tell Why And How He Wrote His Book.