To create a past that seemed authentic but would be a fiction, you need an invented language.

You never give away your heart; you lend it from time to time. If it were not so, how could we take it back without asking?

Time is a player. Time is part of today, not simply a measure of its passing.

In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun.

That is what literature offers—a language powerful enough to say how it is. It isn't a hiding place. It is a finding place.

I miss God. I miss the company of someone utterly loyal. I still don't think of God as my betrayer. The servants of God, yes, but servants by their very nature betray. I miss God who was my friend. I don't even know if God exists, but I do know that if God is your emotional role model, very few human relationships will match up to it.

London is a small place, and it is very incestuous. People know where you live. Everybody is sort of on top of each other.