“Deux me’ tresou un peu plusse parent donc l’homme de la femme. Two metres, or a little more, separates a man from a woman.”

Memory belongs to the imagination.

The art of the novel, however, has fallen into such a state of stagnation – a lassitude acknowledged and discussed by the whole of critical opinion – that it is hard to imagine such an art can survive for long without some radical change.

The true writer has nothing to say. What counts is the way he says it.

the world is neither meaningful, nor absurd. it quite simply is, and that, in any case, is what is so remarkable about it.

What do young girls dream of? Of the knife and of blood.

Memory belongs to the imagination. Human memory is not like a computer which records things.

The reader [as well as the main character] does not view the work from outside. He too is in the labyrinth.

Premie’ re approximation: j’e cris pour de truire, en les de crivant avec pre cision, des monstres nocturnes qui menacent d’envahir ma vie e veille e. First general point: I write to destroy, by describing exactly the nocturnal monsters that threaten to invade my waking life.

There is a famous Russian cartoon in which a hippopotamus, in the bush, points out a zebra to another hippopotamus: ‘You see,’ he says, ‘now that’s formalism.

It is part of the imaginative process, on the same terms as invention.

To many, the solution seems simple enough: such a change being impossible, the art of the novel is dying.

They play gangsters, nowadays, just like boys. They organize rackets. They plan holdups and practice karate. They will rape defenseless adolescents. They wear pants…

Le lecteur, lui non plus, ne voit pas les choses du dehors. Il est dans le labyrinthe aussi.

On n’e chappe pas a’ son sort. One cannot escape destiny.

To tell the truth, girls are no longer the way they used to be.

When you have solar panels, your electricity gets there for free, no one’s figured out how to meter the sun yet. And that’s good.

I would just fly off jumps and go 40 or 50 meters when I was 6 years old – break skis, smash my goggles and get a bloody nose and go crawl inside for a little while and then come back out and ski more in the afternoon.

Ergometer is Greek for ‘work meter’

Gerard is just like me, but two meters tall. We’re very alike; it’s not for nothing that we were born on the same day, it’s just that he was born 10 years later… he’s a happy guy, healthy here, in the head.

If you’ve climbed the first 140 meters it doesn’t mean that you’ve succeeded; you are going to succeed by climbing the last 10 meters.