I have an editor in my head, that's why I can't read Harry Potter, because Rowling is such a lousy writer.

Twelve thousand miles of it, to the other side of the world. And whether they came home again or not, they would belong neither here, nor there, for they would have lived on two continents and sampled two different ways of life.

How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things.

Perfection, in anything, is unbearably dull. Myself, I prefer a touch of imperfection.

... the most insoluble problems are those which by their very nature can have no space within them for dreams.

That's the purpose of old age... To give us a breathing space before we die, in which to see why we did what we did.

It's a dead give away of an inexperienced writer if every character speaks with the same voice