I can kid people, including myself, into believing that something on the page will work. But when you film it, you just think, "Oh ...".

By the time the plane was airborne I'd forgotten England even existed.

I knew my affection for the Philippines was equally as telling: a democracy on paper, apparently well ordered, regularly subverted by irrational chaos. A place where I'd felt instantly at home.

There are one hundred glow-stars on my bedroom ceiling. (...) Glow-stars are strange. They make the ceiling disappear.

Vietnam, me love you long time. All day, all night, me love you long time.

Vietnam, me love you long time. All day, all night, me love you long time. (...) Dropping acid on the Mekong Delta, smoking grass through a rifle barrel, flying on a helicopter with opera blasting out of loudspeakers, tracer-fire and paddy-field scenery, the smell of napalm in the morning. Long time.

Waking was the most reliable part of a dream, as built into dreams as death is to life. You dream, you wake: you live, you die.