نظنّ أن هذه الأشياء لا تقع إلا للآخرين . حتى اليوم الذي تقع فيه على رؤوسنا - Isabel Allende

...y quien diga que todo fuego se apaga solo tarde o temprano, se equivoca: hay pasiones que son incendios hasta que las ahoga el destino de un zarpazo y aun así quedan brasas calientes listas para arder apenas se les da oxígeno.

...when everything else fails, we communicate in the language of the stars

I never expected that the weird craft of writing would be of any interest to the general public, nor that a writer could become a sort of celebrity and be expected to behave like one. Writing is a very private matter that happens in silence and solitude-an introverted temperament is an asset in this job. Writing takes up an incredible amount of energy and time; there is very little left for anything else. But more and more the publishing industry forces the authors to become public figures and go around talking, reading, signing, and even selling their books. How can one be in the limelight and still write? Books deserve compassion. They are delicate creatures born to be accepted or rejected as a whole; they can't endure dissection under the microscope of the pathologist. Most writers are as vulnerable as their work. If you pin them against the wall and force them to explain the unexplainable, you might break them. I am afraid it's happening to me.