Death is the mother of beauty,” said Henry. “And what is beauty?” “Terror.

Sometimes it's about playing a poor hand well.

There's an expectation these days that novels - like any other consumer product - should be made on a production line, with one dropping from the conveyor belt every couple of years.

If he had his wits about him Bunny would surely keep his mouth shut; but now, with his subconscious mind knocked loose from its perch and flapping in the hollow corridors of his skull as erratically as a bat, there was no way to be sure of anything he might do.

When you feel homesick,’ he said, ‘just look up. Because the moon is the same wherever you go.

No money, holes in my socks, living off oatmeal.

Always remember, the person we’re really working for is the person who’s restoring the piece a hundred years from now. He’s the one we want to impress.