She had no images of this love. She could offer no anecdotes. It was a belief rather than a memory.

The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read.

Because I am a mother, I am capable of being shocked: as I never was when I was not one.

We all know that a book is not really a person. It isn’t a human being. But if you are a lover of books as books – as objects, that is – and ignore the human element in them – that is, their voices – you will be committing an error of the soul, because you will be an idolator, or else a fetishist.

The short answer to 'Why do you write' is - I suppose I write for some of the same reasons I read: to live a double life; to go places I haven't been; to examine life on earth; to come to know people in ways, and at depths, that are otherwise impossible; to be surprised.

I read for pleasure and that is the moment I learn the most.

So that’s what art is, for the artist,” said Crake. “An empty drainpipe. An amplifier. A stab at getting laid.