When pieces of work speak to us in a way that feels as if they were made just for us, those become our private worlds that we return to.

Infatuation.First Love.Lust.My passion can be explained away.But this is sure: Whatever she touches, she reveals

Naked is the best disguise.

Books and doors are the same thing. You open them, and you go through into another world.

The baby explodes into an unknown world that is only knowable through some kind of a story – of course that is how we all live, it’s the narrative of our lives, but adoption drops you into the story after it has started. It’s like reading a book with the first few pages missing. It’s like arriving after curtain up. The feeling that something is missing never, ever leaves you – and it can’t, and it shouldn’t, because something is missing.

I can't catch her by copying her, I can't draw her with a borrowed stencil. She is all the things a lover should be and quite a few a lover should not. Pin her down? She's not a butterfly. I'm not a wrestler. She's not a target. I'm not a gun. Tell you what she is? She's not Lot no. 27 and I'm not one to brag.

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