When I read, I get so lost in the story, I forget where I am. Bucharest just melts away and I’m transported someplace else. I forget the time of day, sometimes even the year or the century. This may sound crazy, but I get myself all mixed up with the characters, like the story is actually happening to me.

When trust died, the country became mute.

We waited 45 years for the Americans to come and set us free. . . When I was a child, we used to say that even if the Americans were coming in a wheelbarrow, they should be here by now.

The first thing I remember about Bucharest is how very dark it was.