History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation.

He didn’t really like travel, of course. He liked the idea of travel, and the memory of travel, but not travel itself.

Loving humanity means as much, and as little, as loving raindrops, or loving the Milky Way. You say that you love humanity? Are you sure you aren’t treating yourself to easy self-congratulation, seeking approval, making certain you’re on the right side?

How rarely do our emotions meet the object they seem to deserve? How hopelessly we signal; how dark the sky; how big the waves. We are all lost at sea, washed between hope and despair, hailing something that may never come to rescue us.

Often the grind of book promotion wearies you of your own book - though at the same time this frees you from its clutches.

When I was still quite young I had a complete presentiment of life. It was like the nauseating smell of cooking escaping from a ventilator: you don't have to have eaten it to know that it would make you throw up.

..books look as if they contain knowledge, while e-readers look as if they contain information.