Songs remain. They last...A song can last long after the events and the people in it are dust and dreams and gone. That's the power of songs.

It’s part of growing up, I suppose…you always have to leave something behind you.

I don't know much more than I did when I was alive. Most of the stuff I know now that I didn't know then I can't put into words.

I do not believe that all books will or should migrate onto screens: as Douglas Adams once pointed out to me, more than 20 years before the Kindle turned up, a physical book is like a shark. Sharks are old: there were sharks in the ocean before the dinosaurs. And the reason there are still sharks around is that sharks are better at being sharks than anything else is.

She was the storm, she was the lightning, she was the adult world with all its power and all its secrets and all its foolish casual cruelty.

This was the void. Not blackness, not nothingness. This was what lay beneath the thinly painted scrim of reality.

There was a smile dancing on his lips, although it was a wary smile, for the world is a bigger place than a little graveyard on a hill; and there would be dangers in it and mysteries, new friends to make, old friends to rediscover, mistakes to be made and many paths to be walked before he would, finally, return to the graveyard or ride with the Lady on the broad back of her great grey stallion.