The roots of art and play lie very close together.

I opened the large central window of my office room to its full on the fine early May morning. Then I stood for a few moments, breathing in the soft, warm air that was charged with the scent of white lilacs below.

I have no concern for the common man except that he should not be so common.

All fiction for me is a kind of magic and trickery, a confidence trick, trying to make people believe something is true that isn't.

Life isn't just to be found, you have to work for it.

The novelist must be his own most harsh critic and also his own most loving admirer and about both he must say nothing.

The opportunities for heroism are limited in this kind of world: the most people can do is sometimes not to be as weak as they've been at other times.