As long as we remember a person, they're not really gone. Their thoughts, their feelings, their memories, they become a part of us.

The world was a world of dreaming souls who could not die.

A baby was a fact. It was a being with a mind and a nature, and you could feel about it any way you liked, but a baby wouldn't care. Just by existing, it demanded that you believe in a future: the future it would crawl in, walk in, live in. A baby was a piece of time; it was a promise you made that the world made back to you.

If you are writing any book about the end of the world, what you are really writing about is what's worth saving about it.

My rule has always been, write the next part of the book that you seem to know well. So I won't necessarily write chapter two after chapter one.

I was very much a child of the Cold War.

I was a 'Planet of the Apes'-obsessed kid.