Memory is quite central for me. Part of it is that I like the actual texture of writing through memory.

I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how it is with us. It's a shame, Kath, because we've loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can't stay together forever.

The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.

There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one.

As I say, I have never in all these years thought of the matter in quite this way; but then it is perhaps in the nature of coming away on a trip such as this that one is prompted towards such surprising new perspectives on topics one imagined one had long ago thought throughly.

I think it's quite difficult to understand what kind of life a writer leads. They might be millionaires, or they might be starving people.

I spent ages figuring out things like viewpoint, how you tell the story, and so on.