I've lived my life like a serial killer; finish with one part, strangle it and move on to the next. Life in neat little boxes is life in neat little coffins, the dead bodies of the past laid out side by side. I am discovering, now, in the late afternoon of the day, that the dead still speak.

The probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. The lure of it is immense. We send starships. We fall in love.

It may be that you are settled in another place it may be that you are happy but the one who took your heart wields final power.

Always in my books, I like to throw that rogue element into a stable situation and then see what happens.

My books always begin with a sentence and an image - not necessarily connected.

Lies 1: There is only the present and nothing to remember. Lies 2: Time is a straight line. Lies 3: The difference between the past and the futures is that one has happened while the other has not. Lies 4: We can only be in one place at a time. Lies 5: Any proposition that contains the word 'finite' (the world, the universe, experience, ourselves...) Lies 6: Reality as something which can be agreed upon. Lies 7: Reality is truth.

I dreamed I was a single moment in a single day. A note struck and vanished. A sounding. A reckoning. Gone.