Every night I cut out my heart. But in the morning it was full again

Before the real city could be seen it had to be imagined, the way rumours and tall tales were a kind of charting.

Politically I don't believe anymore that we can only have one voice to a story, it's like having one radio station to represent a country.

He knows that the only way he can accept losing her is if he can continue to hold her or be held by her. If they can somehow nurse each other out of this. Not with a wall.

If she were a writer she would collect her pencils and notebooks and favourite cat and write in bed. Strangers and lovers would never get past the locked door.

You want to suggest something new, but at the same time, resolve the drama of the action in the novel.

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