I get a warm feeling among my books.

[T]here is no greater sign of innate misery than a love of teasing.

Parents. . . are sometimes a bit of a disappointment to their children. They don't fulfil the promise of their early years.

The whole idea of interviews is in itself absurd - one cannot answer deep questions about what one's life was like - one writes novels about it.

Dinner at the Huntercombes' possessed only two dramatic features - the wine was a farce and the food a tragedy.

When people really hate one another, the tension within them can sometimes make itself felt throughout a room, like atmospheric waves, first hot, then cold, wafted backwards and forwards as if in an invisible process of air conditioning, creating a pervasive physical disturbance.

He fell in love with himself at first sight and it is a passion to which he has always remained faithful. Selflove seems so often unrequited.