Not all popular novelists are good, but all good novelists are, sooner or later, popular.

Fate cannot be sidestepped or outrun.

There are days when it seems to me that in literature the most convincing depiction of the world in which we live is to be found in the phantasmagorical kingdom through which Lewis Carroll took Alice on a tour.

At the core of every ordered system, whether a family or a factory, is chaos. But in the whirl of every chaos lies a strange order, waiting to be found.

We are not strangers to ourselves, we only try to be.

Dare we linger, dare we skate? Dare we laugh or celebrate, knowing we may strain the ice? Preserve the ice at any price?

Where there is cake, there is hope. And there is always cake.