You know, I don't feel fifty. I feel not a day over forty-nine. It's incredible. I'm bouncy, I feel bouncy.

Once I've written something it does tend to run away from me. I don't seem to have any part of it - it's no longer my piece of writing.

I feel that what I do is always contemporary with the society I'm living in... If I wanted to explain myself, that's how I'd explain myself: that I'm a diarist.

It's a compulsive need to wreck everything. You might notice there's a pattern of stripping down and building back up again throughout my life. But I guess that's how some of us conduct our lives.

I'm a born librarian with a sex drive.

I'm rather kind of old school, thinking that when an artist does his work it's no longer his.

As you get older, the questions come down to about two or three. How long? And what do I do with the time I've got left?