In this book time thus flows in a tempo opposite that of real life: the tempo slows down as the years go by.

In any case, it seems to me that all over the world people nowadays prefer to judge rather than to understand, to answer rather than to ask, so that the voice of the novel can hardly be heard over the noisy foolishness of human certainties.

What is a novel if not a trap for catching a hero?

Bedensel sevgi şiddetsiz düşünülemez.