My upbringing was absolutely not the archetypal writer's upbringing. Even, arguably, the opposite.

Happiness quells thought. And work quells thought.

People die when curiosity goes.

I do my thinking while I walk. It just loosens up the mind in the way that you don't get when you are sitting at a desk.

Possibly he knew, as he wrote this, that he was mad - because inside every madman sits a little sane man saying 'You're mad, you're mad.'

How quick and rushing life can sometimes seem, when at the same time it's so slow and sweet and everlasting.

As a novelist, I suppose I can say that I'm highly articulate. But I know, as a person, in other ways, I'm not always articulate. I think we are all, from time to time, inarticulate, at some level, about some things.