The past is always knocking at the door, trying to break through into today.

The only reason people die, is because EVERYONE does it. You all just go along with it. It's RUBBISH, death. It's STUPID. I don't want nothing to do with it.

Set your fantasies in the here and now and then, if challenged, claim to be writing Magical Realism.

London grew into something huge and contradictory. It was a good place, and a fine city, but there is a price to be paid for all good places, and a price that all good places have to pay.

I don't just randomly kill people... I kill people when it's funny.

As far as I'm concerned, the entire reason for becoming a writer is not having to get up in the morning.

I am fascinated a) by transgressive art and b) what happens beyond the boundaries.