Now when I look back to the Guildford of that time it seems far more exotic to me than Nagasaki.

Poor creatures. What did we do to you? With all our schemes and plans?

And so we stood together like that, at the top of that field for what seemed like ages, not saying anything, just holding each other, while the wind kept blowing and blowing at us, tugging our clothes, and for a moment, it seemed like we were holding onto each other because that was the only way to stop us from being swept away into the night.

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 had been plunged into a different world. I found myself spending half my time answering weird questions on book tours in the Midwest. People would stand up and explain to me the situation in their office and ask me whether they should resign or not.

You need to remember that. If you’re to have decent lives, you have to know who you are and what lies ahead of you, every one of you.

What interests me is the surprising enormous extent to which most people accept the fate that's been given to them, and find some dignity.