My father was in the First World War.

Hitler admired Stalin, quite properly seeing himself as a mere infant in crime compared to his great exemplar.

I have a daughter and two grand-daughters and a great grandson in Africa, in Cape Town.

Writers brought up in Africa have many advantages - being at the center of a modern battlefield; part of a society in rapid, dramatic change. But in a long run it can also be a handicap: to wake up every morning with one's eyes on a fresh evidence of inhumanity; to be reminded twenty times a day of injustice, and always the same brand of it, can be limiting.

At last I understood that the way over, or through this dilemma, the unease at writing about 'petty personal problems' was to recognize that nothing is personal, in the sense that it is uniquely one's own. Writing about oneself, one is writing about others, since your problems, pains, pleasures, emotions—and your extraordinary and remarkable ideas—can't be yours alone. [...] Growing up is after all only the understanding that one's unique and incredible experience is what everyone shares.

Better Counsel comes overnight.

None of you [men] ask for anything - except everything, but just for so long as you need it.