I came to live in Shepperton in 1960. I thought: the future isn't in the metropolitan areas of London. I want to go out to the new suburbs, near the film studios. This was the England I wanted to write about, because this was the new world that was emerging.

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

Everything is becoming science fiction. From the margins of an almost invisible literature has sprung the intact reality of the 20th century.

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

A general rule: if enough people predict something, it won't happen.

Given that external reality is a fiction, the writer's role is almost superfluous. He does not need to invent the fiction because it is already there.

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.