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.

Love and hate are cruel, only liking is kind

I escaped the torture of my childhood home by reading. To this day it is still one of my greatest pleasures.

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.

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

We're working-class people, which means we don't get rich or have maids. Be content with what you are and what you have.

What was sleep? A blessing, a respite from life, an echo of death, a demanding nuisance?