Nothing is a matter of life and death except life and death.

She stands and moves within the invisible pentacle of her own virginity. She is an unbroken egg: she is a sealed vessel; she has inside her a magic space the entrance to which is shut tight with a plug of membrane; she is a closed system; she does not know how to shiver.

Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.

He is, I think, already pondering a magisterial project: that of buggering the English language, the ultimate revenge of the colonialised.

My mother learned that she was carrying me at about the same time the Second World War was declared; with the family talent for magic realism, she once told me she had been to the doctor's on the very day.

Anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

I know that whenever a group of women are gathered together, the grandmother always makes a phantom appearance, hovering above them.