Part of the very impulse of writing for me is actually wanting to get away from myself.

I respond to the sound of London being spoken - to the sound of London.

Happiness quells thought. And work quells thought.

I think the purveyors of e-books are only too happy for this atmosphere of 'everything belongs to everybody' to increase because it means they don't have to think so much about the original maker of the thing, or they can get away with paying them less.

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

Realism; fatalism; phlegm. To live in the Fens is to receive strong doses of reality. The great flat monotony of reality; the wide empty space of reality. Melancholia and self-murder are not unknown in the Fens. Heavy drinking, madness and sudden acts of violence are not uncommon. How do you surmount reality, children? How do you acquire, in a flat country, the tonic of elevated feelings?

My mother was a great bringer-up of children. My memories are of a sense of security and comfort.