One of the things that writing has taught me is that fiction has a life of its own. Fictional places are sometimes more real than the view from our bedroom window. Fictional people can sometimes become as close to us as our loved ones.

Anything based on ancient texts is difficult for a modern reader to get their head around.

I like autumn. The drama of it; the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. A dangerous time; of violent rages and deceptive calm, of fireworks in the pockets and conkers in the fist.

I liked her better for showing a little spirit.

I'm phobic about the idea of being constrained.

I think if you are an outsider then you are an outsider always.

Some things can be both real and imaginary at the same time, . . . some lies can be true, . . . broken faith may be restored.