“My confidence comes from the belief that all human beings resemble one another, that others carry wounds like mine and that they will therefore understand. All true literature rises from this childish, hopeful certainty that we resemble one another. When a writer shuts himself up in a room for years on end, with this gesture he suggests a single humanity, a world without a center.”

That is a quote from Orhan Pamuk’s Nobel Lecture, My Father’s Suitcase, that I read in The New Yorker last week. Check it out…