Over the city lies the sweet, rotting odor of yesterday's unrecollected sins.

People will identify with a persecuted minority without asking themselves what they are identifying with.

Cravats grow higher, as if they mean to protect the throat. The highest cravats in public life will be worn by Citizen Antoine Saint-Just, of the National Convention and the Committee of Public Safety. In the dark and harrowing days of '94, an obscene feminine inversion will appear: a thin crimson ribbon, worn round a bare white neck.

I am not a historian. I don't see what I do as being a rival to biography.

My first book was a historical novel. I started writing in 1974. In those days, historical novels meant ladies with swelling bosoms on the cover. Basically, it meant historical romance. It was not respectable as a genre.

One of the ideals [Margaret Thatcher] grew up with was self-denial and postponement of gratification, and yet she went about to create a greedy, short-term society. It is a paradox.

In order to successfully impersonate men, the woman [Margaret Thatcher] launched a war.