I spent much of my childhood in northern Quebec, and often there was no radio, no television - there wasn't a lot to entertain us. When it rained, I stayed inside reading, writing, drawing.

That is how we writers all started: by reading. We heard the voice of a book speaking to us.

I learned about religion the way most children learned about sex, [in the schoolyard]. . . . They terrified me by telling me there was a dead man in the sky watching everything I did and I retaliated by explaining where babies came from. Some of their mothers phoned mine to complain, though I think I was more upset than they were: they didn't believe me but I believed them.

I read for pleasure and that is the moment I learn the most.

The main thing is to keep yourself awake [on writing]

Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow.