A Novelist Is A Man Who Doesn't

And Boucard Desisted, Probably Because Like Everyone Else He Was Deeply Impressed By This Man Who Had Laid All Ghosts, Who Had Lost All Shadows, And Who Stared You In The Eyes With Cold Serenity.

For 30 Years I Have Tried To Make It Understood That There Are No Criminals.

The Fact That We Are I Don't Know How Many Millions Of People, Yet Communication, Complete Communication, Is Completely Impossible Between Two Of Those People, Is To Me One Of The Biggest Tragic Themes In The World

I'm A Bit Like A Sponge. When I'm Not Writing I Absorb Life Like Water. When I Write I Squeeze The Sponge A Little - And Out Comes, Not Water But Ink.

I Am At Home Everywhere, And Nowhere. I Am Never A Stranger And I Never Quite Belong.