I'm full of self-doubt. I doubt everything I do. Everything I do is a failure.
If I was asked to say what was the greatest invention of human beings, I would say the sentence.
What is money, after all? Almost nothing, when one has a sufficiency of it.
Most crime fiction, no matter how 'hard-boiled' or bloodily forensic, is essentially sentimental, for most crime writers are disappointed romantics.
The world is not real for me until it has been pushed through the mesh of language.
I'm a hopeless 19th-century romantic.