The critics slap labels on you and then expect you to talk inside their terms.

A foolhardy lot, we accepted it all, as we always do, never asked: "What is going to happen to us now, with this invention of print?" In the same way, we never thought to ask, "How will our lives, our way of thinking, be changed by the internet, which has seduced a whole generation with its inanities so that even quite reasonable people will confess that, once they are hooked, it is hard to cut free, and they may find a whole day has passed in blogging etc?"

... if you have nothing, you are free to choose among dreams and fantasies.

The white man has settled like a locust over Africa, and, like the locusts in early morning, cannot take flight for the heaviness of the dew on their wings. But the dew that weights the white man is the money that he makes from our labor.

I hate to sound clichéd, but I do see life as a journey. How else can you see it?

I wanted to highlight that whole dreadful process in book publishing that 'nothing succeeds like success.'

All my friends' mothers were appalling women.