Where did love begin?What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary,dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you? In the fossil record of our existence, there is no trace of love. You cannot find it held in the earth's crust, waiting to be discovered. The long bones of our ancestors show nothing of their hearts.

I feel in colour, strong tones that I hue down for the comfort of the pastelly inclined. Beige and magnolia and a hint of pink are what the well-decorated heart is wearing; who wants my blood red and vein-blue?

What a strange world this is when you can have as much sex as you like but love is taboo.

It's not the one thing nor the other that leads to madness, but the space in between.

I am getting much more political as I get older. It's the duty of any writer, in particular, not to stand back from the world.

Wherever love is, I want to be, I will follow it as surely as the land-locked salmon finds the sea.

Creativity is on the side of health - it isn't the thing that drives us mad; it is the capacity in us that tries to save us from madness.