If we knew something about what we were going to write, before we did it, before writing, we would never write. It would not be worth it. To write is to try to know what one would write if one wrote – one knows it only after – before, it is the most dangerous question that one can ask oneself. But it’s the most common too. The writing happens like the wind, it’s naked, it’s ink, it’s written and it goes like nothing else in life, nothing more, except it, the life.