I Can Write Absolutely Anywhere. All I

A Spider Brings Good Luck Before Midnight And Bad Luck After.

I Sell Dreams, Small Comforts, Sweet Harmless Temptations To Bring Down A Multitude Of Saints Crashing Among The Hazels And Nougatines

All Those Moments, Those Memories. Everything That We Are, Compressed In Just Two Or Three Kilos Of Paper — The Weight Of A Human Heart.

Children Are Knives, My Mother Once Said. They Don’t Mean To, But They Cut. And Yet We Cling To Them, Don’t We, We Clasp Them Until The Blood Flows.

I Carried Recipes In My Head Like Maps.