I promised to tell you how one falls in love.

It's a discovery of a story when I write a book, a case of inching ahead on each page and discovering what's beyond in the darkness, beyond where you're writing.

Why are you not smarter? It's only the rich who can't afford to be smart. They're compromised. They got locked years ago into privilege. They have to protect their belongings. No one is meaner than the rich. Trust me. But they have to follow the rules of their shitty civilised world. They declare war, they have honour, and they can't leave. But you two. We three. We're free.

That's one of the great sadnesses of any life - knowing what you know now and then remembering what you did not know then.

It doubles your perception, to write from the point of view of someone you're not.

The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.

We all have an old knot in the heart we wish to untie.