He was in a terrible state- that of consciousness.

Jane was my wicked stepmother: she was generous, affectionate and resourceful; she salvaged my schooling and I owe her an unknowable debt for that. One flaw: sometimes, early on, she would tell me things designed to make me think less of my mother, and I would wave her away, saying, Jane, this just backfires and makes me think less of you.

Bullets cannot be recalled. They cannot be uninvented. But they can be taken out of the gun.

All writers of fiction will at some point find themselves abandoning a piece of work - or find themselves putting it aside, as we gently say.

Laughter always forgives.

Insects are what neurosis would sound like, if neurosis could make a noise with its nose.

He was in a terrible state- that of consciousness.