Wives?" she asked, interrupting him. For a moment, he had assumed she was tuning to the novel. Then he saw her waiting, suspicious eyes, so he replied cautiously, "None active," as if wives were volcanoes.

I was the British spy who had come out of the woodwork and told it how it really was, and anything I said to the contrary only enforced the myth. And since I was writing for a public hooked on Bond and desperate for the antidote, the myth stuck.

Jesus Christ only had twelve, you know, and one of them was a double.

A good writer is an expert on nothing except himself. And on that subject, if he is wise, he holds his tongue.

Fools, most linguists. Damn all to say in one language, so they learn another and say damn all in that.

As our Governments spin, lie and lose their credibility, the electorate simply shrugs and looks the other way.

We have learned in recent years to translate almost all of political life in terms of conspiracy. And the spy novel, as never before, really, has come into its own.