Dreams have always been my friend, full of information, full of warnings.

There was a time when young people respected learning and literature and now they don't.

The first casualty in any war is the truth. In World War II, I was part of a group of people who used to meet once a week with the sole purpose of analyzing the news and trying to work out what we weren't being told. We thought that we were clever, but we had absolutely no idea what was really going on. It was only years later that we learned the true story.

I wasn't an active feminist in the '60s, never have been.

But there is no doubt that to attempt a novel of ideas is to give oneself a handicap: the parochialism of our culture is intense. For instance, decade after decade bright young men and women emerge from their universities able to say proudly: 'Of course I know nothing about German literature.' It is the mode. The Victorians knew everything about German literature, but were able with a clear conscience not to know much about the French.

I am increasingly afflicted by vertigo where words mean nothing

Artists are the traditional interpreters of dreams and nightmares.