For the record, I don't expect you to believe any of this. Not really. I'm a liar by trade, after all; albeit, I like to think, an honest liar.

My ideal reader is me. And yes, my ideal reader comes with me and is forgiving.

Have you ever had one of those days when something just seems to be trying to tell you somebody?

A short story is the ultimate close-up magic trick -- a couple of thousand words to take you around the universe or break your heart.

Television and cinema were all very well, but these stories happened to other people. The stories I found in books happened inside my head. I was, in some way, there. It's the magic of fiction: you take the words and you build them into worlds.

You don’t want to ask after the health of anyone, if you’re a funeral director. They think maybe you’re scouting for business.

We'll win, of course," he said. "You don't want that," said the demon. "Why not, pray?“ “Listen," said Crowley desperately, "how many musicians do you think your side have got, eh? First grade, I mean." Aziraphale looked taken aback. "Well, I should think-" he began. "Two," said Crowley. "Elgar and Liszt. That's all. We've got the rest. Beethoven, Brahms, all the Bachs, Mozart, the lot. Can you imagine eternity with Elgar?