It is the generation of the unemphatic. Steal, kill, lie, fornicate, but beware of indulging with conviction.

Everything else you grow out of, but you never recover from childhood.

The sun burnt on, drugging everything with warmth.

The older one becomes the quicker the present fades into sepia and the past looms up in glorious technicolour

What we remember is probably fiction anyway.

I am of the firm belief that everybody could write books and I never understand why they don't. After all, everybody speaks. Once the grammar has been learnt it is simply talking on paper and in time learning what not to say.

nothing is so sad as the injustices of old age.