Ask yourself this question. Do we have to be humans forever? Consciousness is exhausted. Back now to inorganic matter. This is what we want. We want to be stones in a field.

Clouds are no deterrent. Clouds intensify the drama, trap and shape the light.

It is possible to be homesick for a place even when you are there.

I think literature has lost it's power. Great novels continue to be written, but they are no longer changing the world.

People will not die. Isn't this the creed of the new culture? People will be absorbed in streams of information. I know nothing about this. Computers will die. They're dying in their present form. They're just about dead as distinct units.

Everything's a scandal. Dying's a scandal. But we all do it.

A novel determines its own size and shape and I've never tried to stretch an idea beyond the frame and structure it seemed to require.