I don’t distinguish between magic and art. When I got into magic, I realised I had been doing it all along, ever since I wrote my first pathetic story or poem when I was twelve or whatever. This has all been my magic, my way of dealing with it.

Look at him now, poor fellow. That's what a dose of reality does for you...Never touch the stuff myself, you understand. Find it gets in the way of the hallucinations.

This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?

Everybody has their story to tell.

I suppose that the main drive is to find the edge of something and then throw myself over it.

Does the human heart know chasms so abysmal?

On the one occasion where I did try writing a screenplay, I found the rewriting just unendurable.