She devoured stories with rapacious greed, ranks of black marks on white, sorting themselves into mountains and trees, stars, moons and suns, dragons, dwarfs, and forests containing wolves, foxes and the dark.

In England, everyone believes if you think, then you don't feel. But all my novels are about joining together thinking and feeling.

She devoured stories with rapacious greed, ranks of black marks on white, sorting themselves into mountains and trees, stars, moons and suns, dragons, dwarfs, and forests containing wolves, foxes and the dark.

Never stop paying attention to things. Never make your mind up finally. Do not hold beliefs.

Vocabularies are crossing circles and loops. We are defined by the lines we choose to cross or to be confined by.

When I was a child - in wartime, pre-television - books were my life.

Do I do as false prophets do and puff air into simulacra? Am I a Sorcerer--like Macbeth's witches--mixing truth and lies in incandescent shapes? Or am I a kind of very minor scribe of a prophetic Book--telling such truth as in me lies, with aid of such fiction as I acknowledge mine, as Prospero acknowledged Caliban.