The human race sleepwalked to oblivion, thinking only of the corporate logos on it's shroud.

By the eighteenth book, one has a sense of having bricked oneself into a niche, a roosting place for other people's pigeons. I wouldn't recommend it.

I don't think it's possible to touch people's imagination today by aesthetic means.

Surrender to a logic more powerful than reason.

I accepted that a new kind of hate had emerged, silent and disciplined, a racism tempered by loyalty cards and PIN numbers. Shopping was now the model for all human behaviour, drained of emotion and anger.

Nagasaki destroyed by the magic of science is the nearest man has yet approached to the realization of dreams that even during the safe immobility of sleep are accustomed to develop into nightmares of anxiety.

After being bombarded endlessly by road-safety propaganda it was almost a relief to find myself in an actual accident.